


Dead Man Walking

by Alkeni



Series: Dead Man Walking [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen, Immortal Lilah, Immortal Wesley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 94,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alkeni/pseuds/Alkeni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley died that night, in the park, when Justine slashed his throat and took Connor from him. So why is he still alive? After a lifetime of failures, is there anything worth living for? Wesley/Lilah</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking Up Dead

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Angel or Highlander

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 1: Waking Up Dead

The doctors had been more than a little amazed at Wesley's survival. His throat had be sliced open, after all, and he had lain still in that park for hours before he'd been found and given medical care. They had gone on about the remarkable resilience of the human spirit, the obstinacy to keep on living despite the odds – hell, the cut hadn't even gotten the least bit infected. He was a minor miracle, the doctors told him. Even more amazing, he would be able to recover his power of speech.

Wesley knew the doctors were wrong, though. He knew what had happened, as he lay there, dying, his life's blood flowing from the wound. He had felt himself slip his mortal coil, felt himself die. More than that, he'd wanted to die. He'd failed. His entire life, really, had been failure after failure. Always failing, no matter how well he did in his studies, no matter how hard he worked – he became Head Boy – but nothing had ever won him his father's love. Or even kindness, or a modicum of respect.

He become a Watcher, and then Watcher to an active Slayer – the thing every Watcher lived for, the one thing every Watcher hoped for. He'd felt like his was on top of the world then.

And then he'd failed, fallen so far, so hard, when just how abysmal he was had come to him. To add insult to the injury, he was fired from the Council, and left in the United States without enough money to make it back home. Not that he could go back home – his father had said as much.

He'd tried – and failed – miserably, unmoored from anything resembling an anchor – to go solo, the 'lonely path' of the 'rogue demon hunter'. That was the period of his life that embarrassed him the most, how full of himself and how proud of his 'lone rogue' status. At least he'd had the excuse of still being chock-full of Council nonsense when he'd been in Sunnydale. If Angel hadn't met up with him when he did...he'd have gone and gotten himself killed.

For a while, for the first time in his life, he found both success and acceptance. He'd done good work, as part of Angel Investigations, helping people, fighting the good fight. But six words in prophecy – six words that weren't even true, as it turned out, despite all the efforts he'd made to confirm it. Engineered by a time-shifting demon with an agenda of its own. He'd failed at working at Angel Investigations, he'd failed to even save Connor. He'd failed to have any chance with Fred, losing her to Gunn.

Failure. His whole life was built on failure...he was a living...dying...monument to failure, he'd thought. He hadn't been obstinate, determined to survive, to live. No...he'd wanted death, welcome the oncoming darkness, hoping for oblivion, because he knew if there was a heaven, there would be no place for him in it.

And he had died. He'd felt his spirit leave his body, going towards the blessed, peaceful oblivion he found himself craving. He'd died....and yet he'd lived again. As if connected to his body by an elastic band, he'd been wrenched _back_ to his body. Once again, when on the cusp of success, he'd failed. He'd failed to die...how pathetic was that? Of all the things he'd imagined he'd fail at....failing to die was not one of them. It was a universal constant. Even Vampires died, eventually. Even gods did – Glorificus had died, he knew, at the hands of Giles destroying her mortal prison. The old gods of Greece and Rome, of Egypt, Babylon, the ancient Celts...all dead, because they had no worshipers. If Gods could die, if vampires could die...if everyone else could have the sweet oblivion of death, escaping this world...why couldn't he?

When Gunn and Fred had found him, rescued him, he felt...the slightest stirrings of hope. If he could just explain...

By the time Angel came in, he was already fully recovered. He could have spoken then, could have gotten out of there and walked away, anywhere. But no. He knew he couldn't. People didn't recover from wounds like that. Slayers did. Demons did. Vampires did. Not people. If he just upped and walked away, or spoke clearly and perfectly after the damage to his vocal cords...people would wonder. He'd expected Angel to still be angry, to never forgive him. It hurt, but it was no surprise when Angel had held that pillow over him, pressing it down on his face, trying to finish the job Justine had attempted to start. Wesley had almost wanted it to happen, to see if he could die some other way...but no, the orderlies had pulled Angel away before that could happen.

Angel's rejection he'd expected. But he hadn't expected that Fred...that Fred, once she knew the truth, the truth of the prophecy – or at least...what he'd believed the truth to be...that she'd at least forgive him...but no. And he knew there was some truth to her words – perhaps he should have told someone...he'd almost told Angel, a few times. But still...without knowing what he knew now...he knew why he hadn't told anyone then, and with the knowledge he'd had, he done what had seemed logical, to him. All anyone could work with was what they knew. He was, before anything else, a scholar. A student of knowledge, ancient or not, lost or found. Information was all he had.

When the doctors had finally let him out, deemed him recovered enough to leave...it hadn't taken him long to press a gun to his temple, and pull the trigger. Once again though, he'd failed to die. He'd woken up dead, no bullet in his brain, not even an entry wound, though the cut on his neck remained, though now just a scar.

He'd drunk himself into a stupor, that night. The next night, he'd tried again. He knew he was being a coward, unwilling to face the world, running from it by trying to die...and he didn't care. Death was the only option left for him. He couldn't return home, couldn't rejoin the Council...he couldn't return to Angel Investigations...he had nothing and no one to live for. He took a blade to his wrist, slicing it open – he was fully prepared to try every method of suicide he could think of, until one stuck.

It was as blue lightning danced around the incision he'd made on his wrist that he realized what had happened, what he'd become. He'd had to check his books to confirm it, hoping against hope that he was wrong, that he was not as doomed as he feared, doomed to continue. Doomed to live forever, until his head was removed and his quickening stolen as a prize of battle, in a game played since the dawn of recorded history – if not before. The Watchers Council knew about immortals, though they were only encountered rarely. They tended to stay part of mortal society, and tended, like most humans, to pretend the creatures of the night didn't exist. Once a Slayer and their watcher had come upon a Vampire feeding on an immortal – they didn't feel human, to Slayers – and the immortal's quickening had destroyed the vampire in a storm of blue lightning.

He was immortal. And now the sweet oblivion of death was almost completely closed to him. Cutting off one's own head, after all, was rather difficult, and would require a Rube-Goldbergesque machine to perform the task, and Wesley lacked the kind of mechanical engineering knowledge to accomplish that. No...he would need someone to remove his head for him. But who?

He considered going to Angel, letting him actually succeed in killing him, telling him the way to kill him, giving him the sword. But no...now that Angel had had time, he'd not be likely to kill him...Angel was a Champion of the Powers that Be, after all. A champion for good, and he doubted Angel would be willing to kill him now...if nothing else because he would know Wesley wanted the release of death, if Wesley told him what he was, and thus let Wesley live, forever stuck with his pain.

No...Wesley would have to wait until he encountered another immortal, and hope that he had the nerve then, the will, then, to not fight back, to surrender himself, finally, to oblivion as he died a final death.

Until then, Wesley was a dead man walking. For he had nothing to live for. Life held no meaning, no joy to him. All he had now was a lifetime of regrets and failures. They were all he had to keep him company, until he could finally die.


	2. Hypocrisy

Disclaimer: Not Mine. I will, at various points, use dialogue from the show in this fic. I don't own that either.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 2: Hypocrisy 

Angel's face, as he walked into the hospital room. He'd kept it neutral, but Wesley could see the fury there, hidden in his expression. The words, the tone, almost...pleasant, for a moment...then the pillow, Angel's words...he was unable to breath.

He remembered desperately wanting Angel to succeed...and then breath again, as he was dragged of. Angel's final words to him...they'd be with him forever which was shaping up to be quite a long time, unfortunately.

“You're dead! You're dead!”

_Oh, how I wish that were true_. Wesley had spent the last week and change since his discharge from the hospital doing...well, nothing. Rereading the tomes he'd read time and time again, drinking every night – it was amazing just how much he needed to drink to even feel the least bit drunk, now. Still, he woke up to a hangover every morning, a testament to just how determined he was.

He had only left his apartment once, in that entire time, to buy essentials. He didn't think he actually needed to eat, but the routine gave him something to hold on to, keep what was left of his sanity intact. And he'd bought himself a lot of alcohol, knowing he'd need it. He was running out. Just a bottle of vodka and half a bottle of scotch left.

Wesley was asleep, when the furious knocking at his door began, dreaming.

Well, if watching an endless cycle of one's own failures, and the myriad of ways they could have turned out better, if only he'd been just a little smarter, just a little better, qualified as dreams, rather than nightmares. He saw himself handling Faith better, or at least not making quite so many mistakes. Saw himself being tortured by Faith, felt the pain all over again. If only he'd told the others, about the prophecy, or never trusted Justine, at least not at that crucial moment...if only he'd died there, in the park.

He dreamed of dying more than anything. But his death was never followed with oblivion, in his dreams. Because he always kept waking up dead. Clinically, Wesley was alive. By all possible definitions he was alive, but Wesley hadn't really felt alive since his first death.

The knocking had awoken him – he was always a light sleeper, and he'd not had deep sleep...except when he was unconscious from drink.

Who, though, would be so interested in seeing him? There was no one else, now. The continuing knocking brought him to the door. He opened it, and actually chuckled a little, inward, darkly. Gunn. What now, he wondered. Was Gunn here to finish the job? Would Gunn remove his head, if he asked him?

“Need your help.” Gunn said as soon as he saw Wesley. _Help?_ This man...this man he'd once counted as one of his closest – one of his **only** friends, who had abandoned him – perhaps, not entirely without reason, but still, without any chance to explain himself, who had stolen the woman he loved...though now...his feelings for Fred, whatever they were, were beyond impossible, even if he reconciled with Angel and the others. Fred was normal, human. She would live a normal lifespan. He wouldn't be able to watch her age and himself stay the same. He wanted the whole package, with Fred, he knew. Love, life, happiness, forever. But forever had become longer for him, and was still the same length with Fred. He still loved her, he knew, but it was impossible, and he hoped it would pass, in time. It had to, anyway.

Gunn needed his help. And Wesley, hating himself, knew he would give it. They had been friends, and while it didn't seem to matter to any of them now, it did matter to him, still. He hoped that would pass in time as well. Wesley stepped aside and let Gun inside his apartment.

“Look, I don't have time to get into it with you.” Time? It wasn't a question of time. Gunn had had all the time in the world, since his discharge from the hospital, to 'get into it' with him, if he was so inclined. No. Gunn lacked the interest, the inclination, to bother. He had turned his back on their friendship completely, and was uninterested in looking back. “I don't even want to be here.”

So why are you? He'd considered asking, but Gunn went on before Wesley could. “The hotel is infested with something. Some kind of slug jellyfish type thing.” As Gunn spoke, Wesley walked past him, towards the cabinet on the far wall. Whatever Gunn wanted, he'd need a drink to get through the hypocrisy, on both their parts. “We don't know what they are, or how to kill them.”

Truly, it must suck to be you, Gunn. Your life is terrible. Here, let me make it better. See this cut on my neck? Let's open it all over again and pour lemon juice on it, shall we?

“Well now, that is a problem.” His voice was normal, undamaged. He didn't bother trying to make it sound like he hadn't recovered. Let Gunn think what he would. He reached for a file as Gunn spoke. He needed to resort this one, he considered.

“These things...there's hundreds of them. They get inside you and soak up all the moisture out of your body. They drink you alive.”

_Then the solution's simple, Gunn...though perhaps not simple enough for you_ , he added, spitefully, in his mind. To Gunn, the world was simple – mostly. Good and evil, white and black. Angel had thrown him for something of a loop – good Vampire? How does that work? He suspected Lorne had as well, but eventually he'd worked it into a new paradigm. Gunn's worldview was expanded, altered, but still, a simple, straightforward one. Wesley knew the answer, though he had one, vital question. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to know how Gunn rationalized it to himself.

“Why come to me? I'm sure Angel will figure out a way to kill them, eventually.” It was possible. Angel wasn't an idiot, though Angelus...Angelus had a base cunning and cruel genius Angel could never match. Angel might figure it out, if he bothered to think, rather than fight, which he could, he might.

“That's not what I'm looking for. I need to know how to get these slugs out of someone who's been infected.” _Again, the solution seems simple._ “Force it out somehow.”

Despite himself, Wesley toyed with Gunn. “Sorry.”

“Don't give me that. If you could see what these things do.”

“I wish I could help.”

“Wes-”

“Sorry you wasted your time.” How determined was he. How determined was Gunn to find out what he wanted to know, he wondered.

“Its Fred.” _Ah_. That explained it. Somehow, he doubted Gunn would have gone as far as to ask _him_ for help, had it been Cordelia, Groo or Lorne, infected.

Wesley stared him down for a moment, before turning and going to the cabinet, like he'd planned at the start. He pulled out the bottle of Vodka.

“What, we're gonna have a drink now?” _No, you idiot. I'm holding the answer right in front of you, and you're still too stupid to get it._ “Did you hear what I said? She's dying!”

“I was dying.” _Lie. I was dead._ “Throat cut, life pouring out of me.” _Lie. Life already left me_. “Know why I fought to live again?” _Lie. I didn't fight at all._ He didn't know why he was lying. Gunn wouldn't care. He wouldn't get forgiveness this way. But he didn't want Gunn – or anyone – coming back to open old wounds again. If that meant playing up an affectation, to make sure no one else came back to him the moment they needed his expertise again...he'd do it.

“Wes, I don't have time.”

“I wanted to life.” _Lie._ “To see my friends again.” _Lie. I knew I'd never be able to face them. Not after taking and then losing Connor._ “To explain to the people I loved and trusted. My side of what happened.”

“We know what-” _Liar. You know what you think, what you answer you jumped to as you dissolved our friendship._

“You know nothing.” He tossed Gunn the bottle. He saw the look in his eyes. He got it. _Finally_. “I'll help because its Fred.” _Lie. I'll help because its any of you._ “But don't come here again. Pretend I died, that night, in the park, if it makes the task even easier. Its close enough to the truth anyway. None of you are welcome in my home, such as it is, again.”

Gunn left without a word.

Wesley didn't drink that night. Severing the last, faint connections with his friends was essential, so his wounds would stay closed, but it hurt. Ripping off the bandage. He hoped Gunn to his words to heart, and considered Wesley Wyndam-Pryce dead.

Wesley certainly felt that way.


	3. Lilah

Disclaimer: Not Mine. Any lines I use from the actual episodes aren't mine either. I steal a joke made by Monty Python as well. Not mine. Bonus points to anyone who picks up on it.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 3: Lilah

Wesley was reading – no surprise there – when he felt it. He'd spent a significant amount of time and money trying to locate more books on who and what he was, about immortals, and the 'Game'. Finally, he'd called in a favor with one of the few people still associated with the Council that would speak to him, and gotten his hands on a copy of the Council's book _Immortals_ , a collection of everything the Watchers knew about the undying swordsmen.

It was a slim volume – immortals and the Watchers had only crossed paths occasionally in the past, sometimes with the awareness of both parties, sometimes without. Included in the book were details on known immortals, though some of the information on some had last been updated centuries ago.

It was a strange sensation, a sort of tingling that started localized at the back of his neck, but quickly spread throughout his entire body. It was a completely unfamiliar feeling, but one that also brought an intense sensation of familiarity with it. It was faint though.

He was interrupted from pondering the sense by a knock on his door. Whatever the source of it was, was on the other side of his door. Only one way to find out. He made sure his sword was leaning against the wall by the door. He didn't know how on immortal found another, but his awareness of the existence of the 'game', despite his own hope for death, made him never go without easy access to a blade. He didn't know if he would really have the will to not fight back, and just accept death, if it came to that point, so he wanted to be prepared if he changed his mind.

He didn't need to worry – this time. Lilah was dangerous, but on a far different level than any immortal could be. 

The lawyer smirked a little, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly. “I would have called, but I figured you'd only tell me to go to hell.” _You're already heading there, Lilah. Telling you would just defeat the purpose._ “So I though I'd just take a shot and drop by.” She looked him in the eye. “Aren't you going to invite me in?” _I'd sooner invite Drusilla, or William the Bloody in. Although that doesn't mean as much as it once might have, since my blood would kill either one of them._

“No, I hadn't planned on it.”

Lilah raised her eyebrow a little further for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay,” she pushed past him – not that he was trying that hard to stop her. He was curious to hear her sales pitch. He looked out into the hall to see if there was anyone or anything else out there, that could be the source of that sensation, but it was definitely Lilah...he felt her moving into his apartment, as he looked in the opposite direction. _What exactly does she think whatever it is she's doing with that will accomplish?_ Perhaps she hoped whatever it was she had done would screw with his head. Not that he could get much more screwed up, he considered.

He closed the door and turned to see Lilah looking around the room. _Looking for something in particular, Lilah?_

“Huh. Not what I expected.”

“And what exactly were you expecting, Lilah. Do you think about the inside of my apartment often?”

She laughed a little. “No. I was expecting – you know, flowers, some get well cards, maybe a couple of balloons with the smiley faces on them?”

“If you were expecting those, you wouldn't have stopped by.” He replied tonelessly. _Get to the point._

“Wow. I guess when she slit your throat she nicked your sense of humor.” _No, she killed me. I think I damaged the sense of humor during the 'dead' phase._

“Not at all. I find you being here extremely funny.” _Given that you are completely wasting your time, yes._

“And how is that?” She asked, walking towards his desk.

“Because you're here to offer me a job.” Lilah looked back at him for a moment, a slight smile playing on her lips. She idly picked up a statue for a moment before setting it down, and turning back towards him fully.

“Its shame, really, what happened. You dedicate your life to a cause, and the very people you try to help turn their backs on you.”

“Yes.” He replied, opening the door and standing aside so her path out to the door was clear. He was getting bored with her games. “Tragic. I'm not so broken up about it that I'll go and work for Wolfram and Hart out of some desire for revenge. Now get the hell out.”

“Oh, come on. Man of your talents: Scholar, man of intellect -”

“Deep inside knowledge of Angel Investigations.” Wesley finished. Her offer was unsurprising. But even if he'd ever sunk low enough – which he hadn't, not yet, anyway – to work for the facilitators of evil in dozens of dimensions, he'd never give them the opportunity to use his immortality. He highly doubted that they had no knowledge of Immortals, but it was likely no better than the Council's or at best a little bit better. They'd relish the opportunity to dissect an immortal, though vivisection would be even more pleasant, and in his case, possible. No.

Lilah attempted to sweeten the pot, but her tone was casual, conversational. He could tell she knew what his answer was going to be. “Did I mention that Wolfram and Hart has the finest library of mystical, occult and supernatural reference material in the world?” Now she was just enjoying herself at his expense. “Full medical, dental, 401(k) package.” _Only one of those would be even the least bit useful to me._

Wesley shook his head. “Not interested.”

Lilah shrugged, her expression unchanged. Yea. She'd known his answer ahead o time. “Hey, it was worth a shot.” She reached into her purse and removed a book in red gift-wrapping. “Anyway, here's something to help pass the time in the unemployment line.” Wesley took it when offered and wrapped it, tossing the paper to the side. He lifted it up and read the title. 

“Dante's Divine Comedy.”

“Actually, its just part one, the Inferno. Its not a first edition, more like the fifteen hundreds, but it is in the original Tuscan.” _A rather expensive bribe that she knows won't get her anywhere._ Wesley wondered what else she was playing at, by giving him thus. “Have you read it?”

“Several times.” It was a classic, after all, and required reading at the Watcher's Academy to boot. Perhaps if less time had been spent on reading 'classics', like that, and more time on useful fields of study, like how to prevent your Slayer from going completely off the rails by not being such a complete ass... _a useless line of thought._ He'd been down that particular memory lane hundreds of times since it happened. The fault lay with both of them, he knew. He had been a truly abysmal Watcher, but Faith was the one who chose to go not only rogue, but dark. But if he'd been better...well, it had happened, and short of some time-travel spell, he had nothing he could do about it. He tossed the book onto the coffee table in front of his couch.

“Then you know its a guided tour of the underworld, the nine levels of hell.” Where was she going with this, he wondered. She was...intriguing. Every word and action calculated, and there was something that piqued his curiosity, something that made him **not** want to simply shove her out of the room manually. 

He humored her. He was, as he'd considered, curious. “Yes. Descending concentric rings based on the severity of the sin.” 

“You know I always forget – the very bottom of hell, in the ninth circle, the devil is frozen in ice, right?” Indeed... “He's got three heads, three mouths, and those mouths as reserved for the worst sinners. Now...I can't remember...who's in the center mouth?” _Ah._ “What...what was his name? The one person in all of human history deemed the greatest sinner. Who is it?”

Wesley wondered whether or not to actually answer her, and continue this farce of a conversation, but he had no reason not to. Pathetic to say, but apart from his 'conversation' with Gunn, when he'd come begging for his help, this interchange of comments with Lilah was the only contact he'd had with his fellow human being since he'd gotten home from the hospital. He hated himself, hated his situation, hated her for that fact, even though she carried no blame, but he wanted the conversation to continue. He wanted...needed, craved the interaction, since he had nothing else to work with. “Judas Iscariot.” 

“Right.” She said, with a smirk on her face and in her tone. “The worst spot in hell is for those who betray.” _The punchline is reached, as it were._ She brushed past him, heading for the door, but stopped and leaned in towards his ear. Wesley tensed up automatically. She whispered “So, don't pretend you're too good to work for us, Wesley.” She continued on to the door.

Before she could step fully out of the door, Wesley replied. “I would think, Lilah, that of the two of us, you would have a better idea as to the exact layout of hell.”

Lilah closed the door behind her.

The book refused to be out out of his mind, sitting there on the table as he worked on his laptop. He was not doing much of anything, unfortunately. Just keeping up with the news of what was going on back home, in England. But the book kept niggling at him. It didn't make sense why, but it wasn't the book itself. It was Lilah's words. He'd already suspected that he was damned to hell, so it wasn't like Lilah had told him anything new. Maybe it was the...confirmation she offered. The confirmation that he was in fact damned. That someone agreed with his own...interpretation of his fate.

He only kept it open for seconds before closing it again.

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

A microwaved instant meal and cheap red wine. Truly the dinner of champions. It was only a day since Lilah's visit, and he found himself missing her. Not just the contact, interaction with another human being that she represented, though that was also something he missed. No. Also...she was smart. He always had to be on his guard around her, aware, lest she trip him up. She was sharp. Always kept you on your toes. He was missing her for herself, though the very thought sickened him. It was mostly, he thought, the lack of any human interaction that was really driving it. That was all.

Being immortal didn't prevent him from feeling pain, more was the pity. His reflections had distracted him as he peeled off the plastic film covering his meal, only coming back to the present when the sensation of a quick, stinging burn hit him from his fingers. Hissing a little involuntarily, he shook his hand for a moment before leaving off the plastic and reaching for the mostly empty bottle of wine. He was drinking a little less than before, today. But still, he knew he'd be polishing off this bottle before the night was out. Cheap red wine it may be, but it was still alcoholic. It was what he had to work with, as it stood. 

Before he could eat or drink, though, the beep from his half-closed laptop interrupted him. He looked at it, sitting on his coffee table. He pondered ignoring it, at least until he was done with his meal, such as it was, but he didn't last more than a minute before he stood and opened the new message he'd gotten.

782 W. Palm Terrace.  
8:30 p.m.  
Come Alone.

It didn't take a genius to figure out who had sent him that vague and 'anonymous' message. More of Lilah's mind games, no doubt. 

The only way to risk losing was to play, but well...he was going to play. Lilah wanted to play mind games with him. He was...far gone enough to want to let her. 

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

A club. She'd asked him to come to a club. _To what end?_ He wondered. He stood on the balcony, overlooking the dance floor below, looking for Lilah.

She found him first, however. He felt that strange..tingling sensation again as she approached from behind him. He knew it was her before she spoke.

“I see you got my invitation.” 

He turned to face her. “Obviously, Lilah, or I wouldn't be here for you to state the obvious to. Invitation to what, exactly?”

“I thought the 'come alone' was a particularly ironic touch. I mean, how else would you come?” Her self-satisfied smirk alone was worth the price of admission.

“Hilarious. Now, if you're not going to get to a point any time soon, I think I'll take my leave. I have a bowl full of shards of broken glass waiting back at my apartment that I could be eating right now.” He started to brush past her, though he wasn't exactly interested in leaving – and though she put out a hand to stop him, Wesley saw that she knew this. Steps in a dance, for the both of them.

“Don't be like that Wesley. And don't rush off just yet. Look over there.” She pointed down at the bar. Wesley required no effort to realize who she was pointing to. The red hair alone was the first indicator, and besides, her face was burned into his memory. He doubted he'd ever forget what she looked like. Justine. He looked back at Lilah and raised an eyebrow. She explained – sort of. “I went to a lot of trouble to arrange this little show for you.”

“What kind of show?”

“The kind that ends with a big death scene. Come on. Don't tell me you wouldn't like to see the bitch that slit your throat and left you to die,” _Successfully_ , he considered, “get a little of her own back.”

“What's going on here, Lilah?”

“Some source – and for the life of me I can't imagine who – tipped her off that tonight this place would be filthy with vampires. Which, as it turns out, is true.”

“Right, because that same source tipped of the vampires that she would be here.”

Lilah attempted to affect a look of innocence. She failed. “Seems she has been pissing off a lot of undead Americans lately.”

“And you thought I'd enjoy a box seat for her slaughter?” _Part of me certainly would. The larger part of me would rather actually be the one who does the slaughtering._ Both of those facts scared him – a little, but he was finding he didn't care. Playing at 'white hat' had gotten himself, and Angel Investigations as a whole, roughly nowhere when it came to fighting the various forces of darkness in L.A. Wolfram and Hart was still extant, and still as powerful as ever. The Powers that Be were obsessed with Balance, but if one side is sitting in the middle of the see-saw, and the other side is sitting on the 'evil' side, then its not exactly a balanced see-saw, now is it? The Watchers' Council was guilty of many crimes, but Wesley agreed with them, especially these days, that the end of a greater good was more important than the means used. Though the Council did have plenty of nonsense and frankly useless means that they used rather than effective ones. Still, he wasn't going to give Lilah the satisfaction of him watching the vampires kill her. 

Lilah smiled brightly, and Wesley found it almost endearing, in a 'she's sadistic and evil', sort of way. “Well – yeah.” _Right you are._

“You really don't know the first thing about me, do you?” She did, actually, but this time he managed to fool her, just a bit, he thought. 

“Probably not.” He turned and started to walk off. Lilah followed and spoke quietly in his ear. “Like, will he go straight to his car, or will he stop to warn her first?” _No difficulty there._ He didn't even stop moving. “Doesn't even have to think about it before abandoning her to her fate. That's good. Better than I expected, really. That's all I needed to know.” She turned away from him. “You can go now.”

_I can honestly say I didn't see this coming. A pleasant surprise, I must say, to be surprised._ “A test, Lilah? Really?” He turned to face her.

“Oh don't look so grim. I just needed to know whether or not I was wasting my time. And to prove we're still friends-” _Is that what we are?...Well, we probably are the closest the other has to a friend at this point. Now that is truly sad._ “I'll have her pulled out of there before anything really lethal happens. That way you don't have to torture yourself with her death on your conscience.”

“No.” Wesley replied, smirking a little as he saw another familiar face in the crowd below, moving towards Justine. “By all means, feel free to keep her in there until either she or the vampires attacking her die. Except that I think a third option has decided to make itself known.” Lilah stepped next to him and saw what he saw – Angel moving through the crowd. Wesley watched his former friend hand a stake off to another, a young man – couldn't even be twenty. He'd never seen him before, but there was something familiar. He couldn't place it. He watched the two – Angel and the other – move in almost perfect harmony as they fought the vampires. 

“Who's the boy wonder? He moves just like-” Wesley placed it. Time moved at different speeds in Hell dimensions alright. 

“His father.” He was back. _Where then, is Daniel Holtz?_ He wondered idly.

No matter. It wasn't his concern anymore. He was gone before Lilah turned back to him with another question. A bowl full of shards of broken glass almost sounded appetizing at the moment. Not quite though.

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Boredom. 

Among his myriad of morbid and depressed thoughts, Wesley often found himself pondering his new immortal state. Despite the dark depths he'd fallen into immediately after his first death, Wesley found that oblivion no longer held quite as much appeal for him. The return of Connor. A curiosity of the highest order. As much as it wasn't his concern, not his problem – well, it was something. And while he'd gotten out of the dark, depressed depths he'd been mired in before, he was in a whole new class of dark depths, different, and much lower than the ones he'd been in before. He found that he had enjoyed, in a twisted sense of the word, Lilah's company. He was too...apathetic to really loathe himself with the intensity he knew he would under other circumstances, but he still loathed himself for it. 

With Lilah, he knew where he stood. Lilah saw him as a person with worth, value. His father never had, no one in Sunnydale really had. None of his former friends did. Not really. Lilah...Lilah considered him someone of worth. It was true that she measured his worth in terms of the value of his skills and knowledge to Wolfram and Hart, but...the basic facts of the human condition remained true. Being valued felt...good, on a basic, primal level. Man was a social animal, and couldn't cut themselves off from everyone without losing some of their sanity. 

And when Lilah was around, he certainly wasn't bored. Because that, apart from a fellow immortal swinging a sword around, was the real threat to an immortal, or at least their minds, anyway. Boredom. Supposedly some immortals managed to fight off their opponents for thousands of years, living through so much history. Things had to get repetitive, after a while. Especially given that human nature remained even more static than everything else.

Each chapter of history was, at its core, a remake of the previous one. Just with better special effects and different actors, and maybe the plot twist was a bit different, but the basics remained the same. Humans – and near-humans – though, felt, acted, did the same types of things over and over. _It is a wonder we progress at all._

Once again, thanks to that strange tingling sensation – and he really, really needed to figure out what it was Lilah was doing to cause that - he knew it was Lilah before she actually stood next to the table he was drinking at. Shot glasses and empty beer glasses littered the table.

At least this pub, for all its...lack of maintenance, sold quality British beers. A friend of his at the Watchers' Academy had once told him that American Beer was like making love in a canoe. 

Fucking close to water, in other words. 

“Mind if I join you?” Wesley looked up from his ruminations at her. Dressed as sharply as ever. He looked her over once before answering.

“On many levels and with great intensity.” _True._ “But go ahead anyway. You were planning to regardless of my answer.” He took the only shot glass left that wasn't empty and poured it into his beer. 

“I didn't know you knew me so well.” She sat down. She eyed the scar on his throat. “How's the throat doing? Its certainly healed a lot better and faster than I would've expected.”

“You'd be amazed what the proper combination of magical herbs and ingredients can accomplish, Lilah.” He'd be damned before he told her about his immortality.

She cocked her head to the side a moment before responding. “You're not telling me the whole truth.”

“Of course not. Are you particularly surprised?” Wesley took a sip of his beer. 

“No, not really,” She said after a moment's consideration. Then, “Life's something, isn't it? One day you're a pivotal figure in the big battle, fighting the 'good fight', next thing you know you're thrown out on your lonesome. No one even cares what you think any more. Well- I care.”

“No.” Wesley said. “You care about my value to Wolfram and Hart as a potential employee. Fine distinction, but an important one to make.”

“Okay,” She leaned back in the chair a bit, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “You got me. But at least I care. More than you can say about your former friends.”

“True.” He took another drink. “Extremely sad and terribly pathetic, but also entirely true.”

“I also care that that great big brain of yours is going to waste. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Angel Jr. a thing without precedent in human history?”

“Are we dealing with humans here? Last time I checked, we weren't. Not really.”

“Touché.”

“Besides, you're wrong.” Lilah smiled and raised an eyebrow at him. _That smile..._ “Mesopotamian, Greek, Hindi, Celtic myth, the bible, even Darwin – they all support the coming of something that wasn't possible before.” He took another sip of his beer.

“Okay, the impossible is here. But what does it mean? Is it the herald of a new age, of better things to come, or is it the mass destruction of everything we hold dear?”

“Who knows? Every child born comes into the world with an unwritten future. The possibility of salvation or slaughter.”

“Connor didn't.”

“The prophecy was a fake, as I recall, Lilah. The greatest power prophecy has, I think, is that too many people believe in them, and in endeavoring to prevent them, make them come to pass.” This too was something he'd considered quite a bit, in his time since his first death. “You've read the Pergamum Codex?”

“I have.”

“It said that the Master would kill the Slayer and he would be free. What it failed to mention is that the Slayer wouldn't stay dead, and that the Master's freedom would last for a few hours at best. If destiny truly is real, then my philosophy is simple, these days. Screw Destiny.” He shrugged. “Connor will do what he will, because he is who he is. Prophecy is meaningless. Either it will happen, or it won't. It its possible to change, then its not fate, not prophecy, and it is prophecy, is fate, then nothing you do will help anyway.”

“Fatalistic.”

“On the contrary. If I encounter another prophecy...I intend to do whatever it was I was planning on doing before. Because if it is meant to happen, it will happen no matter what I do, and if it isn't meant to happen, then actively working against it is too likely to make it happen anyway.”

“You've changed since you got that cut on your throat.”

“I've had a lot of time to reflect, Lilah.”

Idly, Lilah raised a hand to her neck, and asked a question she really shouldn't have asked. “What was it like, when she got you?”

Wesley reached out with his hand and wrapped it around her throat. “Are you terribly anxious to find out?” He squeezed ever so slightly, and Lilah smiled – actually smiled. Wesley felt a jolt, both from the fact that he had his hand around her throat, and from her smiled. And unlike the strange tingling he felt at her approach, this one he could understand the cause and source of very well. 

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They were barely inside his apartment when their clothes started to come off. Intellectually, Wesley knew this was a terrible idea on a number of levels, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He wanted Lilah, she wanted him, and that's what there was. 

And, again, Wesley was completely isolated as a person, still. Lilah was contact, relation with another human being, and that alone was good, felt good.

They didn't even make it to the bed before they had their first round. 

They did make it to the bed, and eventually both their libidos and lusts were satisfied. The living room of his apartment was a mess, however. Neither of them, in their passion, had been gentle with eachother, or the room.

Passion was an odd thing. It was a descriptive term, ascribed to intense active emotions – anger, hatred, love, lust, happiness. No matter how intense one's sadness might be, for example, no one ever used the term 'passionate sadness'. 

Wesley finally rolled off of Lilah and laid back on one side of the bed. “You know that sinking feeling you get the morning after?” Beat. “It arrived early.”

Lilah stretched as she spoke, “Its like a little death. Several, actually.” She looked at him. “You're not going to tell me to get out?”

“No. I was already anticipating the sinking feeling arriving early, and in any event, you're planning on leaving anyway.”

Lilah smiled and rolled out of the bed. “So that's it? No sweet kiss, no 'when can I see you again?'” Wesley simply half-raised an eyebrow at her. “Watch the dirty looks, Wes. That's what got me going in the first place.” She pulled on her shirt, buttoning it. “I'll give you this: you sure know how to channel your rage, frustration and hate. Always a bigger turn on than love.” 

“So it would seem.”

Lilah chuckled, “I'm starting to like you. But don't go making any more of this than it is. And don't be thinking of me when I'm gone.”

“I'm already past thinking about you.” Wesley remarked. He'd considered saying 'I wasn't thinking about you when you were here', despite the fact that wasn't true, merely because he knew it would sting on a very basic, primal level. But he thought better of it.

“Spend too much time in the dark and you'll stay there, Wesley.” Lilah remarked as she picked up her jacket and bra and walked out.

Wesley laid back, staring at the ceiling and eventually falling asleep.


	4. Eventful Summer I

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 4: Eventful Summer I

Angel was missing. Presumed dead by many of the minor players out there in the supernatural underworld of Los Angeles, but Wesley had his doubts.

In the week since the last confirmed sighting of the ensouled vampire, Wesley had acquired a new weapon – a collapsible sword. He'd not encountered another Immortal yet – as far as he knew. Certainly no one had come gunning for him – or swording for him, as it were – and his head, but he was unwilling to become complacent. As it was, at this moment, he had something of a purpose now, and dying – as much as part of his still welcomed it – was not on the agenda. He needed to determine what had happened to Angel and Cordelia.

It wasn't that they had once been friends. He was quite past that by this point. Endless self-reflection had taken care of that. But the fact remained that Angel **was** a Champion for the Powers that Be, and Cordelia **was** his Seer. Angel needed to be out there, fighting the good fight, and Cordelia needed to be at his side, helping him.

His first order of business had been the need to find a way to carry a sword around without drawing too much attention to himself. He'd found and located an arms-dealer named Emil who not only provided him with the more modern weaponry he normally dealt with, but with a sword that did indeed collapse back into a wrist-guard like device. He'd tested it against some vampires – his newfound immortality did allow him to take previously insane risks, like marching right into a nest – small nest – and opening first with bullets and then with his sword. It certainly could decapitate them without any difficulties.

With the issue of a sword handled, Wesley needed to get down to finding both of his former – decidedly former – friends. He already had an idea of who was behind the disappearance of Angel. Justine. The woman was not only a complete idiot, but she was also fanatically loyal to Holtz, through a combination of believing in his mission, and a twisted sense of love. Either she was acting on Holtz's orders – Wesley presumed the old vampire hunter would have come back from the Hell Dimension he fled to Connor with if he was still alive by that point alongside Angel's son – or she was continuing 'the fight' in a misguided attempt to 'finish' Holtz's work. Either way, tracking her down became his primary purpose.

Well, actually, first he'd made finding Cordelia his first goal, in part because her visions might come in handy tracking down Angel. Unfortunately, he'd hit some insurmountable roadblocks in that endeavor very quickly. Cordelia had completely and totally vanished from her car in the middle of heavy traffic, with no signs of having actually left the car. He'd gone over it with a fine tuned comb – magically speaking, using a few magical detection items – and found that there were no signs of anyone or anything portalling or teleporting into or out of the vehicle. After paying for three different – though all failed- locator spells, he came to the conclusion that either she was alive, but not in this dimension, or she was dead, and her body was not in this dimension. The only person – well, think, really – he could imagine that might have any further answers was Dinza, the Dark Demigod of the Lost, and even as an Immortal, he was still to alive to enter her presence – he'd tried, just to be sure.

One more reason to find Angel, it seemed.

It wasn't that hard to track down Justine, really. It was a simple proposition. Justine, as he'd suspected, was still hunting vampires, despite the fact that she was the only one of Holtz's former team still alive. It was simply a matter of patrolling around vampire-heavy areas and waiting until he saw her. He finally did find her on the tenth day after Angel's disappearance in an alleyway, struggling one-on-one with a fledgling vampire. She was holding it off, but she was also having difficulties getting her stake into it:

Both of her hands were being held by the vampire as they fought a sort-of morbid push-pull tug of war with each other.  Twisting her arm in around to a degree that  _ had _ to be painful, she wrenched her stake-less hand free from the vampire's grip and pulled – of all things – a water pistol from her pocket. Before the vamp had a chance to react, or laugh, she'd sprayed the contents of the weapon into his face. The scream coming from the undead told him all he needed to know about what had been inside the weapon.

_ A Holy Water Pistol. Quite a good idea, when you get down to it. At least, if you're not immortal... _ Wesley himself had the freedom now, thanks to his immortality, to take insanely stupid risks, especially against vampires, since his blood would kill them anyway. It wasn't just freedom, but a total unmooring from caution. He knew only time he would need to feel particularly cautious was when around or near enemies who had the strength to rip his head off, or if they had any sort of edged weapons that could sever his neck. And even then few would know to try it.

The Vampire itself staggered back, clawing at its burnt face instinctively, leaving it wide open and practically begging for a staking. Justine was more than happy oblige it.

From her perch on a nearby roof, Wesley began to clap, slowly and steadily. Justine looked around hurriedly for the source of the clapping – never a good sign when you're fighting the forces of darkness, after all – and pulled a gun from her coat, firing it in the general direction of the sounds.

By sheer dumb one-in-a-million luck, the redhead's bullet caught him directly in the heart.

Fuck. Time to die. Again. And at Justine's hands again at that. Everything went black.

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Justine watched in surprised Amazement as the body tumbled from the nearby roof to fall on the ground just ahead. She'd actually hit and killed the person – or at least wounded them enough to knock them off the roof...

As she got close to him, she saw that he was definitely dead. The bullet had gone clear through his chest. Talk about lucky. She turned over the body and to her great surprise – though not with any concern – realized that it was the vampire's friend, Wesley, who she'd rescued Connor from. Though, from what Connor had told her, it wasn't likely Wesley and Angelus were friends anymore.

She didn't notice the blue lighting dancing across the exit and entry wounds as she searched the man's pockets for money. As she pulled out his wallet though, his left hands snaked up and wrapped itself tightly around her throat.

“That hurt.” Wesley opened his eyes and flicked his wright wrist, a blade coming out of his sleeve, which he held to her abdomen. “That's twice you've killed me, Justine. Anymore and I'd think you didn't like me.” Justine tried to gabble out words as she pulled at the hand on her throat, but Wesley pressed the sword through her shirt, almost breaking skin. “Now, now. None of that.” He noticed she was turning a shade of blue. “Oh dear. You're choking. You're dying. Can't have that yet, now can we?” He loosened his grip a little, but she didn't try anything – with that blade at her stomach she'd be split before she could do anything anyway, making it a futile gesture.

“Imm...Impossible. ...Killed you!” She gasped out.

“Twice, actually. I actually died in the park too, when you slashed my throat and stole Connor. But funny thing death and dying – namely, I can't.” He paused and cocked his head a moment, as if considering. “No, I lie. I _can_ die. I just don't stay dead. Unfortunately, I don't think the same can be said for you, and besides, there are far worse things than death, so I suggest you behave yourself.” He transferred his grip from her neck to the front of her shirt and pulled her up with him.

He retracted his sword and removed a small talisman from his pocket. Justine tried again to break free, but he just slammed her against the wall. “I'm in no mood for games.” He held up the talisman, made from the fingerbone of an Enthrepis Demon. “This is going to allow me to ask you three questions, and despite yourself, you're going to have to answer me with a yes or no, regardless of if you want to. After all, I need to know if I'm wasting my time, or if you're of any use to me alive. Because believe me, if I find out you're of no use to me, I will make your death a work of art. And any good piece of art takes time – perhaps...a year, maybe?” He snapped it and released the magic. Blue mist flew into Justine through her mouth and nose. “Now...Is Angel Alive?”

“Yes.” She said her tone level, despite her continued struggling.

“Do you know where he is?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to be co-operative and tell me up front of your own free will without coercion?”

“No.” The spell released, Justine punctuated that word by spitting in his face. Unfazed, Wesley wiped off his face and in a smooth motion continuing form that, balled his hand into a fist and drove it into her side, hard. Justine didn't scream or make any noise, to her credit.

“Well then. You'll live to see tomorrow, at least.”

“I'll never tell you anything about Angelus.” Justine said, sincere bravery in her tone. Well, sincere fanaticism, anyway. It was easy to mix the two up.

“Oh, you will.” He wrapped his now free right hand around her throat again, pressing hard slowly, so as to choke her just enough to render her unconscious. As he waited, he spoke again. “I was once told that there were five major torture groups – blunt, sharp, hot, cold and loud. Faith Lehane was distinctly unimaginative, if brutally direct and ruthless. By the time I'm done with you, you'll wish I'd used one of those five on you.” Finally, he saw her slip into unconsciousness and he let go of her throat.

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Fortunately, Lilah wasn't waiting for him outside of his apartment when he returned with the still-unconscious Justine. Not that they hadn't been together in the last ten days. They'd slept – well, they hadn't slept at all, and Lilah had left when she was done every time – together eight of the last ten days. Wesley had given up trying to figure out why. There were reasons, yes, but even then, they shouldn't be enough for him to sleep with the enemy.

Except that Wolfram and Hart wasn't  _ the enemy _ , in the same way it once had been. Lilah's efforts to recruit him for her firm were going to fail, no matter how much the color of his 'hat' darkened, for one simple reason: Apocalypse was not on his to-do-list. The world wasn't perfect. Far cry from it. But even in the unlikely – though growing increasingly likelier – event that he slipped from gray into full on black, he wasn't going to be at all interested in destroy the world. He could increasingly see this hypothetical 'evil' self going back to England and massacring the entire Watchers' Council, or heading up to the prison where Faith was being held and killing anyone who got in his way of getting to her – to kill her. And that did more than scare him – it just about terrified him, in that small corner of his mind he'd taken to storing his conscience. But destroy the world? No. The world had too much to offer in the way of enjoyment on a variety of levels for even an irredeemably evil version of himself to fancy destroying it. And at the end of the day, Wolfram and Hart was working, ultimately, towards apocalypse.

As he pondered Lilah and whatever it was he had with her, he was also proceeding with his work. Namely, chaining Justine up in his recently sound-proofed closet. With some duct tape on her mouth, his work was complete, for the moment, until she woke up. The chains were on legs and attacked to a collar he'd fixed on her neck, eliminating almost all her freedom of movement, even within the small confines of his closet. Her hands had been bound behind her back with stiff rope.

Torture with the 'five major groups' was a quick and dirty method that was unlikely to yield results when the person was of strong will or possessed deep fanaticism or loyalty. More likely, the torturer was going to kill the subject before they got any information if they stuck with such crude methods. The lights in the closet were left on, and Justine was left without a bucket or the like with which to relieve herself as well. Isolation, lack of any freedom of movement

When he brought her food several hours later after she finally awoke, it was in a bowl. He unceremoniously ripped the duct tape off of her mouth. “Are you ready to tell me about what you did with Angel?”

“Go to hell.” She said, determined fire in her eyes.

“I figured you'd say that.” He put the bowl on the floor next to her, and started to close the closet door.

“Are you going to untie my hands?”

“Wasn't planning on it.”

“Then how am I supposed to eat?”

“You're a bitch. Figure it out.”

“Kinky. You do this with all your girlfriends?”

He'd need to deal with the snark at some point as well. Work before pleasure. And using the more crude and immediately deadly methods of torture on Justine before killing her would certainly be cathartic. He could turn Faith's petulant little outburst to productive use too. He closed the closet door – first the bars, then the actual door – without responding.

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It took only two weeks to get Justine to spill – everything. Two weeks of sleep deprivation, thanks to the constant lights and the fact that the way she was chained didn't exactly lend itself to restfulness. Two weeks of humiliation from the way he forced her to eat and drink. And two weeks of sitting and sleeping in her own filth.

He'd added insult to insult by 'rewarding' her 'good behavior' with a bucket, and allowing there to be some slack in the chains. The fury in her eyes at the constant humiliation was still annoying, and now that he knew everything, he could be as brutal as he wanted to be – though some small part of him was holding him back from doing anything, just yet.

He knew everything. How she had killed Holtz and framed Angel. How she and Connor had taken him out into the ocean, sealed him in a metal box, and then shoved him off into the sea. Unfortunately, she couldn't give him more than a general area of seacoast, and there might have been some drift, but still, Angel wasn't going anywhere.

What to do about Connor had left him with some questions, but he'd decided it was worth the risk. And to a degree, he didn't care. Connor would be particularly unlikely to kill humans, and he'd be especially unlikely to kill Gunn or Fred – and thus remove their potential usefulness as helpers of Angel – if he didn't think they knew what he did to his father. Besides, Fred's hypocrisy was getting to him. Twice now she'd called, begging him for help – finding Angel, finding Cordelia, helping them with the fact that the three of them – even accounting for Connor's superhuman strength, speed and senses – were utterly incapable of carrying on as they were. Fred wanted his help.

_ Hi, Fred, see this slash I got on my throat trying to save Angel's son? Here's a lemon slice. Go to town. _ He hated to admit it, but it hurt, the first time she called. It really had been like lemon juice, or worse, on an open wound. Emotionally speaking, anyway.

Lilah had been there, the second time he'd refused to help. They'd just been getting started, when the phone rang. The lawyer had pouted when he'd stopped to answer the phone, but that wasn't his problem.

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.”

“Wesley-” It was Fred's voice.

“Fred, we've been over this. I don't care what happened to Angel, I don't care about what happened to Cordelia, and I'm not interested in helping you. Whatever friendship we might have had is long gone. I believe you were the one that ended it. Do the words 'don't come back to the hotel' ring a bell?”

“Wesley, you have to-”

“I have to what?” His voice was no longer level. He was angry. How did she have the nerve to ask? Was this...helpless hypocrite really the girl he'd been wanting to give his heart to? “What is it I have to do? Help the people who turned their back on me? You made your choice. And you certainly didn't sound that broken up about it at the time. The milk has been spilled and the bag is devoid of cats. Lie in the bed you've made. Pick your metaphor. I. Am. Not. Interested. In. Helping. You. The pair of you sicken me. I'm not here for you to turn on when you feel like, and yet be there when things get tough and you need help because you're too incompetent to handle **anything** for yourselves. Frankly, at this point I'm regretting telling Gunn how to save your life, when every drop of moisture was being drained from your body by that Sluk. I should have let you die. Certainly Gunn would have been too stupid to figure it out on his own.”

He could actually hear Fred reduced to tears on the other end of the line. And...God help him, he felt...happy about it. Unloading all this, getting  _ something _ back at his former friend like this gave him an intense sense of satisfaction.

“For someone as intelligent as you, your deficiency in understanding when a door is closed and never to be opened again is astonishing. Do not call me again.” He slammed the phone on its receiver.

“Wow...you've certainly come a long way from Mr. Watcher, Wes.” Lilah said. “I like it. I was half-expecting you to threaten to kill her.” She smiled brightly. “I think we're making progress.”

“Don't be so smug, Lilah.” Wesley said. “I was betrayed by them as much as I did any betraying. Of course I'm going to hate them – especially after they come crawling to me for help, like I'm just waiting here for them to take me back or something.” He shook his head. “Still not interested in the end of the world.” He pulled her back onto his lap. “Now, as I recall, you told me anger was a much bigger turn on than love. And I have a **lot** of anger to work off right now.”

Lilah smiled in that sexy way that never failed to get a jolt out of him. “I like the way you think.”

**Author's Note:** Coming up next chapter: Wesley takes his first head, and starts to put together his own team. As for Wesley's hostility to Fred, personally, I think its an entirely reasonable reaction, when looked at it from his perspective, especially figuring in the increased alienation he's feeling due to his immortal status, the hypocrisy Fred is showing (she is the one who said 'don't come back to the hotel'), and the fact that he did in fact DIE, there in the park. Intellectually, he knows they didn't - couldn't - know he died, but emotionally, its not just that they left him there TO DIE. They left him there DEAD.

 

 


	5. Eventful Summer II

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Author's Note:** Thanks given to Oxnate for beta'ing.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 5: Eventful Summer II

It was while heading out to purchase a boat early one morning when he felt it. It was a tingling sensation akin to what he felt whenever Lilah approached, but stronger, more intense, and it was also accompanied by the...sound of thunder, yet not in his ears, but in his mind directly. It didn't make sense. Still, he felt uneasy and immediately turned down into an empty alleyway, not that there were many people out so early in this area anyway.

“Whoever you are, I think you can come into view, because I suspect if you were planning to kill me long-range, you'd be trying it already.” Wesley said coolly. He would have to ask this person what was creating the sense, so he could figure out why he picked it up from Lilah as well. At his words, a tall man in his mid thirties stepped into view. He had short-cropped black hair, and looked to be of Hispanic extraction. He was wearing a long brown coat, despite the summer weather, and the reason why became clear when he reached into it and pulled out a simple, unadorned broadsword.

“I am Alfonso Rodriguez. Who are you?” He spun the blade a few times experimentally as he waited for Wesley's answer.

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. You're here for my head, are you not? How is it I could sense your approach?”

“Yes. Nothing like the Quickening of a young immortal to start off the day.” He laughed, then cocked his head, an eyebrow raised, “You know what we are, and that we take heads, but not about how we can sense the Quickening of our kind, or those who are going to become our kind?” _Really?_ Wesley reflected on those words with part of his mind, chewing them over. _Lilah, an immortal? Well...given that this man's Quickening feels stronger....and that Lilah was fed on – though not to death – when Darla and Drusilla killed all those other lawyers...interesting. I wonder if I should let her know what she is?_ He considered it, but thought better of it. Lilah knowing about his immortal status – which would come out if he told her – was not going to be a particularly good idea, at this point. “Your mentor has left some gaps in your education - he also obviously never told you to never leave your home without your sword.” He lunged at Wesley with his blade. Wesley stepped back a pace and flipped out his collapsible sword, catching Alfonso's blade with it.

“Never judge a book by its cover. And I never had a mentor.” He blocked another swing and made an attack of his own, which was easily parried. Wesley considered himself a skilled swordsman – and he was, dammit! – but this man, this immortal, was obviously better at it, some kind of active headhunter. Good thing he could use more than swords...

“I've been fighting with this sword and taking heads for two hundred and seventeen years. You haven't been at this for even a year, if I'm reading you properly. What makes you think you can possibly defeat me?”

“The fact that the human race has developed in technology since the late 18th century, Alfonso. I've found that my favorite of those advancements – the best of them, really – has been the field of firearms. Don't you agree?” As he parried another swing, he reached into his coat and pulled out a pistol. Before Alfonso could answer the question, Wesley had fired off the first of five rounds that went straight into the older immortal's chest. They didn't kill him, but they did hurt like hell and knock him back.

“The rules...of the Game...you cheated...” Alfonso coughed out, blood coming up with his words. One of the bullets must have punctured his lungs...

“I've found, in my experience, that most rules are pointless exercises in futility.” He swung with his sword again, and Alfonso only barely managed to parry the attack this time. “Hmm. Needs a bit more lead.” He squeezed off two shots into his enemy's sword arm, causing him to drop the weapon in pained shock. He swung again as his enemy staggered back, and this time got him. The collapsible sword passed cleanly through the other man's neck, severing the head from the body. Wesley, having never experienced a Quickening, was unprepared as blue lighting flew from the empty place on the dead man's shoulders.

The lightning, which he intellectually knew must be Alfonso's Quickening, flowed into his chest, the sensation of the power filling him was indescribable. He saw flashes of another life, which he suspected was Alfonso's as the energy coursed through him. His sword dropped nervelessly from his grip and he found himself actually levitating a few feet off the ground as the energy flowed through him.  **Power.** He felt the power.  **Power.** He  **was** the power. The rush was pleasurable, satisfying, a high. When the Quickening had entirely spent itself and flowed completely into himself, he felt a brief moment of profound emptiness. He collapsed to the ground, landing on one knee, crouched. He picked up his sword and let it slide back into the wrist device.

“There can be only one.” He said quietly. He wasn't sure _why_ he felt the need to say it – he knew from his research that it was sometimes said right before one immortal delivered the final blow on another...the Game. Fighting for an unnamed, and probably non-existent Prize. He had more important worries than fending off headhunting immortals.

He searched through the man's pockets, retrieving keys, the wallet, and a handful of other odds and ends. He checked for the man's address. He was dead, so unless he had left dependents behind – wife, adopted children/stepchildren – whatever the man owned was his for the taking. He didn't need it, after all. And Wesley would need money, now that he was out of a job.

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He returned to his apartment that night satisfied with the day's events. He had acquired a boat complete with the necessary equipment to find the metal casket Justine and Connor had trapped Angel in. And he'd taken an impressive number of swords from Alfonso's apartment – the man seemed to collect them from each immortal he killed, it seemed, since the none of the had shown signs of recent use – just the broadsword he'd also taken. He found account numbers, and a few other items of interest as well. Having already deposited the body at the bottom of the ocean, and removing all traces he'd ever been to the apartment, Wesley counted himself free and clear.

As July came to a middle, Wesley found something that he hadn't expected to find again. A team. Of sorts, anyway.

It was on yet another patrol – he spent the early part of every night on patrol, killing vampires and hostile demons as necessary. Without Angel around to help keep the underbelly of the city in check, the locals were getting restless, and cocky. Fred and Gunn – and Connor – were too busy chasing false lead after false lead – and the entire process was hindered by Connor's inclusion in their little hunt. Wesley hunted in part for the good it did in the larger picture, but also because he wanted to kill. Killing vampires and demons was cathartic for him, enjoyable. He almost understood, now, more about Faith, the thrill she had had in the hunt, the slaying. She had enjoyed it, and at the time, he'd considered her enjoyment a bad thing, a thing to be stopped, but then he'd been full of Council nonsense then.

Wesley entered an old tenement building, and saw an interesting sight. Two people, straight up humans, and a gang of vampires fighting. Well, actually, the humans were running from them, down the stairs, shooting back at the vampires, and not having much effect - either missing, or just pissing off the vampire and not hitting any key areas – they were treating the vampires - and probably thought that they were – as if they were humans.

“Okay, what the fuck kind of masks are those!” One of the men yelled, firing off another few rounds. They reached the bottom of the landing, but one of the vampires jumped down from the landing above, blocking the way of the humans.

“You think we're just going to let you go? Two humans just walk into our turf and you think we're just going to let you walk out? Damn you're stupid if you think that.” He punched one of the two into a wall. Wesley had seen enough. He raised his wrist and fired a stake from an attachment to his collapsible sword's wrist device and the vampire turned into dust. Wesley went over to the bottom of the stairs, as the man still standing looked shocked at the dust that had been a guy he'd probably assumed was just a drugged up gang member.

“Take your friend and get out of here.” Wesley told the man. He flicked his wrist and again produced his sword. He charged up the stairs to meet the vampires, containing them in its bottleneck and forcing them to come at him one at a time. From there, it was a simple matter of ducking their attacks and slicing their heads. The Quickening he'd gotten from Alfonso served him well – the increased strength and speed made him, despite his mostly human status, more than fast enough to handle these vampires, none of whom could be a decade old, he guessed. Decapitating them was also good practice, he considered.

“What the fuck! Die already!” One of them shouted, and Wesley dodged yet another kick, slicing off the vampire's extended foot and then following through with a to its head when it fell over.

“Tried that. Didn't find it much fun.” Wesley responded. The last vampire decided to get going when the going was good, but Wesley wasn't interested in that. He pulled his gun and fired off a round into its head. It wasn't dead, but a bullet scrambling your brains – even undead ones – was never going to go unnoticed even in the best of circumstances. It was all the pause he needed from the vampire to slice its head off as well. He turned, ready to head out of the building when he came face to face with a pistol, held by the man that had been punched into the wall.

“Okay, who the hell are you, what the hell were they, and what the hell just happened?!” Wesley raised an eyebrow. “And put that damn sword away before I blow your head off.”

“Your gun wouldn't accomplish anything. Oh you'd kill me, but I have a tendency to not stay dead these days.” He retracted the sword anyway. “My name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. And you two are?”

“Jacob Hawkins.” The man with the gun in his face said.

“Robert Jones.” The other replied. “Answers. Now.” He added.

“What you two just encountered, and I just killed, were vampires.”

“Vampires?” The one called Hawkins laughed, and waved the gun. “Next thing you'll be telling me is that the little green men are here.”

“You can believe what you want.” Wesley said. “But consider this: Your bullets didn't do much more than annoy them, they're far stronger than any human could be, and they exploded into dust rather than leave actual remains. You have three choices: You can choose to remain ignorant of the reality of the world around us and live your life however you were living it before. You can accept the truth – that humans are far from the top of the food chain – and run home screaming and hide under your bed now that you've been face to face with the kinds of horrors that _are_ higher up on the food chain. Or you can accept the truth and actually fight them.” He grabbed at Hawkins' hand and wrenched the gun from it without it firing. “Whatever you choose, I have things I need to do.” He pushed Hawkins out the way enough so he could get by and headed out.

It wasn't until the next afternoon – after yet another failed night of searching for Angel, in the waters near Los Angeles – that they actually became his team, in any sense. He hadn't sensed the tingling of Lilah's Quickening – he was certain that was what it was now, at this point. Both from what Alfonso had told him, and from the fragments of Alfonso's memory he had access to. Lilah was a pre-immortal, and if she ever died a violent death, well, she would be fully Immortal. In her line of work, a violent death was not generally expected as likely, but then, most lawyers didn't work for Wolfram and Hart, and deal with the kinds of clients she did. Or the kind of opposition.

So he'd known it wasn't Lilah, and there hadn't been anyone else who'd have any need to come to his apartment. He wondered idly if if was Gunn, or Lorne, coming to berate him for the way he'd driven Fred to tears, after that second phone call, but he doubted it. He certainly hadn't expected to see the two men from the previous night – Hawkins and Jones – and another woman in a wheelchair behind them.

“Hello. Can I ask why you're here? And for that matter, how you found me?”

“Don't go giving out your full name if you don't want to be tracked back to your address.” The woman in the wheelchair advised. “We wanted to talk to you about vampires. Specifically, how to kill them. And about what else is out there.”

“Oh? And why is that-?” He realized he didn't know her name.

“Diana. Diana Preston.” She answered, and Hawkins added:

“We want to know so we can fight these things. The idea of them, out there, treating _us_ like food...disgusting.”

“Well...if you're sure.” Could be an interesting way to pass the time, anyway, and more help was always useful. He stepped aside so as to allow the three of them to enter.

 


	6. Not Looking For Forgiveness

**Disclaimer:** Angel? Not mine. Highlander? Not mine. This fic? Mine.

Thanks to Oxnate for beta'ing this chapter.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 6: Not Looking For Forgiveness

Even in the throes of passion, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was not one to stop thinking. His brain, except for when he was actually asleep, never really shut down: always thinking, always processing, always analyzing. And since he was presently with Lilah, it made sense that his brain – or what parts of it that weren't concentrating on present activities, anyway – would be pondering her, the nature of their...relationship, such as it was.

The sex...well, the sex was good – beyond good, really. That certainly was part of it, but that wasn't all. Wesley had been, for most of his life, a man tightly wound, wrapped around himself tight enough to cut off circulation, to extend the metaphor. His father had pretty much drummed that into him – dignity, the family's honor, what a Watcher is and isn't supposed to do. The Academy and the stuffed shirts teaching it had only solidified that, and it had taken his utterly dismal experience in Sunnydale for him to slacken at all, to be less wound.

His time with Angel Investigations had finished it up. There was, an allure in giving in to the darker aspects of his personality, aspects he'd never really admitted existed. The first time he'd ever really used them was the way he had so cavalierly thrown away the lives of the rebels on Pylea, to save Cordelia and get home. He had been right to do so, he still felt, but it was the darker choice, not the choice a 'hero' would make. Now though, while Wesley was still interested in doing good, still advancing the same cause he'd once fought for, he not only touched the darkness, but walked in it quite a bit. And Lilah represented that.

She was also, in her own way, enjoyable to talk to – not that their constant sparring could be boiled down to such a neutral word as 'talk'. Lilah made no apologies for her allegiances, and had a flippant, casual attitude about the whole thing that was both aggravating and fascinating. Her sharp wit forced him to keep his guard up, except there were moments....

His thoughts were cut off for a moment – maybe his brain did shut down – and then Lilah sank down, lying her head on his chest. She breathed deep a moment, “That didn't suck,” she said, then she smiled ever so slightly as Wesley tangled one hand in her hair, the other on her shoulder. “Well, maybe just a little...”

“Perhaps that's something we can expand on next time.”

“What makes you think there will be a next time?”

Wesley slid his hand from her hair, lifting his head a little. “Because you can't resist me. Because there's always a next time.” Lilah smiled and pulled his head to the side, licking up his neck a moment.

“I think you have that backwards.” She said in a low tone, then rolled off of him and out of the bed. Wesley didn't take his eyes off of her.

“Back to Wolfram and Hart?” He cocked an eyebrow.

Lilah nodded, “Snack break's over. Time to get back to work.”

“And Wolfram and Hart does its best work after dark.” He replied, deadpan.

Lilah nodded as she pulled her shirt back on and buttoned it up. “Sunlight's bad for your complexion. Ask Angel.” Then she looked down for a moment, “Oh, silly me. You can't, thanks to that whole 'wanting to smother you with a pillow thing'.”

Wesley nodded, and fell back down onto the pillows, one hand going up to rub the back of his neck, “I wouldn't think that kidnapping his son would have such a negative effect on our friendship.” Despite his slight smirk, his delivery, again, was deadpan.

Lilah shrugged, “You thought you were doing the right thing. I hear that can be confusing – certainly, I'm glad I don't have to worry, on that front. Have you tried talking to him? Isn't that what friends do? Of course, you'll have to wait until he gets back...” Wesley chuckled darkly. Lilah raised an eyebrow, “What?”

“Familiar song and dance Lilah.” Indeed it was. She'd never stopped working her angle, though now it was more a game than anything else, a contest of wills between them that made their interactions all the more fun. “The answer is the same as its always been. I haven't the slightest idea where Angel – or Cordelia, for that matter – is, or what happened to either of them. And frankly, I couldn't care less.” Wesley knew he was a skilled liar, but he was always a little amazed when Lilah bought it. It was true that he didn't really care – except in the abstract, the lives Angel and Cordelia could save – and he didn't have the slightest idea where Cordelia was or what had happened to her, but he did have a very good idea where Angel was, and knew perfectly well what had happened to him.

“Wow. That was cold.” She slid on her other heel and went over to the bed, sitting down next to him, on the edge. “I think we're really making solid progress.” Her tone changed a little, to a more playfully urging one. “Come on though. Doesn't it bother you just a little bit? The not knowing?”

Wesley shook his head. “Not in the least. That part of my life is dead, burnt to the ground and the earth salted. Nothing to do with it concerns me now.”

“No, it doesn't.” Lilah leaned down to give him a quick peck on the lips, but Wesley snaked a hand around her neck and into her hair, pulling her back down for a much deeper kiss. Finally, she pulled back, another smile playing on her lips as Wesley watched her leave. The moment she was gone though, he slid out of the bed and got dressed. As he was putting on his own shirt, he went over to the closet and opened it up. As always, Justine was sitting there, bound and gagged. Wesley reached through the bars and undid the gag, before removing the key from his pocket and unlocking the door.

“Time for another boat ride, Justine.”

“Oh, lovely.” Wesley hadn't managed to break her of her resistance, not to the degree he might like, but there were more important things to worry about than petty revenge and annoyance. For the moment, anyway. “You just don't know when to give up.” Then again, it wasn't exactly as if she was going to get out of all this alive, at the end of the day. Despite what he'd let her believe, he wasn't going to just let her go, once Angel was rescued. He'd never told her that he would, either, but then, Justine was very good at hearing what she wanted to hear, extracting what meaning she wanted from any words spoken to her, and actions directed at her.

“I know when to give up. I also know that this isn't the time.” He unlocked the bar-door and undid her chain. Though Justine still resisted how she could, and her attitude was unchanged, she had learned by this point that trying to escape or fight back was utterly futile. She'd tried once, but that had resulted in losing her bucket for a week, and she'd not gotten that far anyway.

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Piloting a boat was certainly much easier with modern engineering and electronics, these days. The headlights of the boat cut through the gloom, as the detectors on the bottom of the boat scanned the ocean floor for any signs of metal – and in theory, eventually, the casket Justine and Connor had trapped Angel into.

“So what's it gonna be tonight captain?” Justine paced around the back of the cabin behind him, her tone cheerfully insolent. “Bicycle, old tire? Maybe we'll get **really** lucky and find us a nice shopping cart! Here's a whacky though though, why don't you just swim down there and look for yourself?”

Wesley ignored her and looked at the readout of the detector. Nothing. “No contact.” He could almost feel Justine's annoyance at being ignored so utterly. “We'll try the next grid.” He set the boat on a new course and went over to the table at the center of the cabin, marking off the area they'd just checked. They were running out of areas to check.

“You really think finding Angel is going to change anything? He's never going to forgive you.”

“Everything changes, Justine. And I'm not looking for forgiveness.” Justine sat down and sighed.

“Well, whatever. I guess this is better than sitting in your closet all day with nothing to do but fill my bucket.”

“Perhaps you should have considered that _before_ you killed me.” He went back to the steering wheel.

Justine's voice lost any hint of false cheerfulness and just  **dripped** sarcasm. “The great Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, the immortal shining beacon of all that is good and pure in the world. But wait no!That's before he kidnapped his friend's son, started banging the enemy and keeping a slave-girl in his closet.”

_ Imprisoning you in my closet was hardly the worst I could've done to you, and besides, the end justified that in spades. Even if your own actions hadn't done so already.  _ “You were always a slave, Justine. You just couldn't see the chains.” Slave to her grief, then her anger, her lust for revenge, her obsessive one-sided love for Holtz...

“How Zen.” Justine brought up both hands in a praying gesture, as if supplicating to him, “Thanks Swami, I'll meditate on that.”

“Do you ever think about her? Think that maybe she'd be disappointed in you now?”

“Who?”

“Your sister.” He turned the wheel a little to correct the course. “That is how it all started for you, isn't it? Sister murdered by a vampire, leaving you alive and consumed by a need for vengeance.”

“For justice!” Justine hissed angrily at him.

“Justice? Is that what they're calling these days? Turning a son against his father, the perfect weapon to destroy him?”

“Angel got what he deserved.”

“We all get what we deserve, eventually. You and Holtz certainly deserved each other. You two had so very much in common. Pain, loss, a deep-seated lack of anything approaching humor.”

“Oh, I don't know about that.” Justine laughed, as if to prove her point. “We had a few laughs. Getting you to steal Angel's baby. That was a good one.” Wesley didn't rise to the bait, but raised an eyebrow – although since his back was to her, she couldn't see that.

“Really? Was it better than tricking Connor into sinking his father into the ocean?” Justine seemed to ponder that for a few moments.

“You know, I think it was. Though that was worth a couple yuks too.”

“Not much of a plan though, was it?” Wesley drawled. “It wasn't difficult to figure out who was behind Angel's disappearance. You had to have a hand in it, after all. And after Angel saved your life from those vampires, in that club. You know that 'anonymous source' that tipped you off about that place, by the way?”

“What?”

“The whole thing was arranged by Lilah, actually. Wanted to give me a gift of your death.”

“How romantic.”

“And for that matter, once I'd found you, it wasn't that hard to convince you to betray everything Holtz had spent his life for. Just two weeks of sitting in your own filth. Holtz would have lasted longer – anyone with a spine would have really. Somehow, I don't think Holtz had that in mind when he had you kill him.” The fiery anger was rolling off her in waves. The sound of the wrench sliding ever so slightly along the table as she picked it up was all he needed to hear: “I'll take away your bucket.” That was all Justine needed to hear before she dropped the 'weapon'. Pathetic.

The two of them sat in silence for hours as Wesley continued to come up empty, until finally the radar began to beep. “Solid contact. Definitely metallic.”Wesley said as he looked at the readout.

Justine scoffed, “Probably more junk. Could be anything down there.” Wesley reached into a small cabinet and pulled out a diving mask and flashlight, tossing them to her.

“Better have a look then.” Wesley followed Justine out into the open-air back of the boat and got the hoist ready as she dove down in. When she came back up, just her head sticking out of the water, she spoke only two words.

“It's him."

“Then let's get started.” Justine scowled but went back down, attaching the chains of the hoist to the casket. When she came back up, Wesley activated it. It took less time than it seemed, but eventually, it was back on the deck, and Wesley was cutting through the welds sealing it shut. When he was done with that, he gave her a look, and together they lifted the lid off the casket and let it slide off to the side. Wesley picked up the bolt cutters nearby and cut through the steel cords holding Angel down.

“Congratulations, Wesley. You're the big damn hero. Maybe your friends will throw you a big party.” She paused, and cocked her head. “I wonder what the cake's gonna look like...” She trailed off, smiling, because the moment Angel's hands were free, one of them shot up and grabbed Wesley by the throat. “Or not.” She leaned over the casket. “If you really want to kill him, Angel, you'll have to try something else. I think he gets off on breath play.” Wesley didn't dignify that with a comment, and simply grabbed Angel's hand, pressed just below enough to break it, and gently removing it from his throat. Angel didn't resist, and Wesley picked Angel up, carrying him below the deck and into the main cabin, laying the vampire with a soul down on it. He opened the mini-fridge and pulled out several jars.

“Blood?”

“Animal.” he unscrewed the lid off one of them and held it to Angel's lips, lifting his head a little, trying to get some down the vampire's throat.

“What's the hurry? He's gone this long without food.”

“A vampire can theoretically last indefinitely without blood, but the damage to higher brain functions from prolonged starvation can be catastrophic.” The blood went down his former friends throat a little, and he coughed. “Slowly.” He cautioned the former Angelus.

“All the energy you've wasted to save that thing. And for what? A happy ending?” She sneered, “You think everything is going to go back the way it was? He **hates** you. They all do. And they're never going to forgive you or take you back.”

“Some things are worth doing in and of themselves, Justine.” Wesley replied as he continued to feed Angel. “I fear you'll never understand that.” _Not before I return the 'favor' you gave me in full, anyway._

He handcuffed Justine to the railing and went up top, pulling out his cell phone and dialing the Hyperion Hotel. He heard it ring a few times, then it was picked up and he heard Gunn on the other end. “Angel Investigations.”

“Hello Gunn. I know where Angel is.”

“Wes? What the hell? If you were looking, then why did you -” Gunn's tone was accusatory, angry. No doubt upset at the way Wesley had reduced Fred to tears the second time she'd called. “You know what, never mind. Where is he?” Wesley heard Fred say something in the background, but he couldn't catch the details.

“On my boat, after I pulled up the casket Justine and Connor sealed him in and shoved into the ocean.”

“Connor? What the hell are you talking about?”

“You didn't really think that after being raised by a man who had his _daughter_ , a girl not even ten years old, turned into a vampire by Angelus – and who doesn't see Angel as being any different from Angelus – that Connor would really be all happy to be with Angel like a dutiful loving son?” Wesley scoffed. “Believe what you want, but if Connor stakes Angel as soon as I bring him back to the hotel, then its your own problem. Did it ever even _occur_ to you Connor might have had something to do with it?”

“...No...”

“Thought so. I'll be back there within two hours.” Wesley hung up and went back below decks. Angel was still lying on the table, talking to himself. Holding half of a conversation. “How is he?”

Justine, still handcuffed to the railing rolled her eyes. “He won't shut up. Just like every other vampire.”

“Does seem to be a common trait of the species.” Wesley noted.

“I have to stop him.” Angel said. _Stop who, I wonder? And who is he talking to?_ Wesley walked towards the table.

“Angel?”

“I have to do it.” The vampire tried to get up, but Wesley put a hand to his shoulder and stopped him.

“Shh..you need to rest for the moment. You'll have plenty of time to move around later.”

“I should have killed you.” Wesley cocks his head, as if waiting for something, so spike of pain at that, of regret...but there was nothing. Good. Justine just burst out laughing.

“Priceless. And me without my camera.”

“He's been down there too long.” He looked at her. “Pig's blood isn't enough. He'll need more substantial nourishment.”

“Like what?” Wesley just continued to look pointedly at her. Justine's eyes widened, “Oh, screw you, no way in _hell_ am I feeding that thing!”

Wesley rolled his eyes and removed a knife from his pocket. “My blood will kill him – part of the whole 'can't stay dead' package. The way I see it, you have two choices. Either I go over there, unhandcuff you, and you let him drink from your wrist and you get to leave this boat alive, or I go over there, kill you, and drain you of your blood and give it to him.”

Justine's eyes narrowed. “You're bluffing.”

“Not in the least.” He pointed at the scar on his throat. “You slit my throat. I'd love to return the favor. All I need is an excuse.” Justine hissed, scowling, but nodded. “Good girl.” Wesley went over and unlocked the handcuffs, bringing her over to Angel, and watching as she lowered her wrist to his mouth. A look of profound disgust and terror formed on her face as she felt the vampire's teeth bite into her flesh, pulling her blood from her veins, where it belonged, and into his undead body.

Eventually, he let her pull her arm back, and handed her a bandage. She wrapped it tightly around the cut. He handcuffed her back to the railing and guided the boat back into port.

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Wesley was buckling Angel into the passenger seat of his car, the boat sitting out there, moored. Justine, handcuffed and immobilized not far from the car. She was standing, not giving up, apparently. “He'll turn on you!” Wesley closed the passenger side door and went around to the other side. “He won't be able to help it. That's what he is. Sooner or later, he'll turn on you – and all your friends!” Wesley opened the driver's side door. “What, you just going to leave me here?”

Wesley turned. “No, actually. You see, I only told you you'd be getting  _ off _ the boat alive. I never said how long you'd remain in that state.” He barreled forward, not giving her a chance to speak as he walked towards her slowly. “Payback is a bitch, Justine. You, in fact, if you want to get particular. You cut my throat and killed me. Now I'm going to return the favor.” He held out his right arm and swung it in one fluid motion, the sword folding out just as he got near her neck, slicing clean through it and severing the head. “The thing is, I came back. No such luck for you.” He retracted the sword and unhandcuffed her body, dropping it into the ocean. He wondered, idly, if there was some kind of magical artifact he could get for dissolving bodies, to make the whole process easier. He got into the car and drove off.

“Why?” Angel said quietly, as they left the docks behind.

“Why what? Why did I kill her, or why did I make all that time and effort to find you and bring me up?”

“Why...why did you help me?” Angel's words came out slowly, quietly. He was still weak, still recovering.

“For all the people you'll be able to save.” Wesley said as he turned the car down another street. “Regardless of what happened between us, with Connor, you _are_ one of the good guys, a Champion for the Powers that Be. Don't take this for what it isn't. Even if you were inclined to give it – which I doubt – I'm not looking for forgiveness. Not redemption, and not anything else from you. Just keep doing what you were doing. Saving lives and helping the hopeless.”

The rest of the drive back was quiet, Angel basically asleep, until finally they arrived at the Hyperion. He helped Angel into the hotel, one of the vampire's arms draped around his shoulders. Gunn and Fred rushed into the lobby moments after he walked in. “I believe you're looking for this.” He handed the vampire off to them.

Fred and Gunn set him on the settee in the lobby, he was mostly sitting under his own power, but partially laying back.

“Oh my god...” Fred wailed.

Gunn looked at Wesley. “Is he going to be alright?”

“In time, maybe.” Wesley tossed a binder at Gunn, who caught it.

“What's this?”

“Everything I have on Cordelia's disappearance. Connor had nothing to do with it, by the way.” Wesley answered as Angel groaned again.

“He's out of it.” Gunn said, setting the binder down. Wesley watched the two of them worry over Angel for a moment, before heading back towards the door. He'd reached the landing when Fred looked back at him.

“What do we do? Wesley...where are you going?” Wesley turned back towards them.

“I'm done here.” The immortal stated.

“What took you so long to tell us about Connor?” Gunn demanded.

“You knew what he could've done to us.” Fred said, accusingly.

“You're human, he wouldn't have hurt you. Besides, you wouldn't have believed me, and I thought you were safer not knowing.”

“We were safer?! You really don't care anymore, do you?” Fred actually raised her voice a tiny fraction.

Wesley looked at her pointedly. “No. I don't.” He opened the door, and as he was halfway out of it, he added, “He'll need more blood.”

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When he returned to his apartment, he found Lilah sitting on the couch. He wondered, idly, when she'd had a copy of his key made, and made a mental note to change the locks on his door. As much as he...whatever it was, he hardly trusted her.

“Don't know where Angel is? Don't care?” Lilah said, pouting falsely. “I hate it when you lie to me.”

“And you've been honest to me the entire time we've been sleeping together?” Wesley asked. “I didn't care, actually. That part of my life is still dead. I found Angel because he'll save lives. Apart from that, I'd much prefer to imagine he doesn't exist.” He raised an eyebrow. “What about getting back to work?”

Lilah chuckled. “Not so much needed anymore. The wonderful thing about being the boss is that you get to make your own hours.” She stood up and walked towards him.

“The boss?” Lilah came up to him, barely inches between them.

“Yep. I just got promoted to Head of the Special Projects Division. I thought,” She grabbed the front of his shirt with one hand and pulled him to her, kissing him deeply for a moment. “That we could...celebrate.”

 


	7. Reflections

  **Disclaimer:** Highlander – not mine. Angel the Series – not mine. Any original characters and content – very much mine.

Thanks to Oxnate for beta'ing.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 7: Reflections

Some demons, despite many claims to the contrary, were very much like humans. Not all of them. A great many were utterly inhuman, with motivations no sane mortal could grasp, acting in ways that seemed utterly random to those whose perception was too limited to see things the way they did. The Old Ones, back when they ruled this earth, had twelve different senses, rather than the human five, and lived seven different lives at once, the same entity occupying seven forms at the same time. Wesley figured it would drive a human mad to simply try to comprehend how it would feel to exist in that state.

But some demons...well, their motives were so astonishingly human it was actually rather amazing. Jealousy, anger, ambition – all motives for many kinds of demons, even ones that didn't look that human to begin with. Or, in the case of these reptilian buggers, greed, pure and simple. And not even respectable greed, for gold, which was valued as a medium of exchange in most demon dimensions. No. They wanted dollars. Several million of them in this case, which is why they'd kidnapped Liam O'Leary – a minor occultist with a lot of money to spend on his hobby – and demanded his wife pay up.

Instead, his wife had gone to Wesley and his group for help.

Which was why he as busy in a sword fight with a saurian demon twice his size and strength – even with his boost from Alfonso.

Wesley ducked a swing and slashed with his own weapon, cutting into the demons arm just bit – the tough hide of its scales serving as an excellent armor. Wesley used the free moment he gained by the demon reeling back in pain to yell, “Jones, ground sweep, left flank!” From one of the many shadowed areas of the sewer tunnel they were in, Jones stepped out, a battleaxe in hand, and swung it with all his might at another of the demons, which had been preparing to dart around and hit Wesley from the side. Hawkins pulled a gun and went for a body-mass shot, the bullet only penetrating far enough to be annoying, however. At which point Wesley became too embroiled in his own fight, as yet another demon joined in on attacking him.

Immortality was great, but still, losing a battle was never fun, and if he died, his team was going to die before he had a chance to come back. Wesley slashed at the sword arm of one the demons, cutting its wrists and forcing it to drop the blade before crouching and rolling between the legs of the other one, standing back up directly behind it and pulling out his shotgun. With a pull of the trigger, flames burst from the barrel, as the Dragon's Breath rounds expended themselves.

Wesley had purchased them from Emil with the intent of using them on vampires – and they did their job on the front amazingly well – but the fact that remained, apart from breeds of demon specifically associated with the elements of fire or water, no one liked to be burnt. And not this lizard demon either. It screeched, falling back and yelling in its native language. Wesley didn't give it any chance to put the fires out or live through them and fire again, a grim merciless expression on his face.

Pump. Fire. Pump. Fire. Pump. Fire. That much fire and the demon was dead in seconds. Hawkins and Jones had finished with their demon and were coming over to join him on the last one.

It spoiled that by holding up its hands by way of surrender. “Look, wait, don't kill me.” It dropped its sword, blood dripping from the cut Wesley had made on its arm earlier. It spoke accented English with a reptilian lilt – it wasn't an explainable auditory sensation, but the words just sounded strange. “I have money – you want money!?”

“Money isn't the issue. We'll get money when we return Mr. O'Leary to his wife. Where is he?”

“Fucking – she sent you?” The demon took Wesley's raised eyebrow for a yes, “Look, he's at the Sunrise Motel, just outside of town. I've got the room key, I'm going to lower my hand and take it out and give it to you. I give it to you, and you don't kill me, okay?”

“Your continuation of life can be discussed after we get the key.” Wesley said. The demon would've frowned if it had the proper facial muscles to do the job. It lowered one hand, and both Hawkins and Wesley had moved a few inches closer, their guns still pointed menacingly at the demon, hands on triggers. It pulled back a flag of skin over its torso, revealing a pouch. Jones actually winced in disgust a little, black pus oozing out as it reached a hand in and pulled out a metal motel key on a chain with one of those metal room number identifiers on it. It was just as covered in that pus.

“That stuff – it isn't going to hurt us, is it?” Jones asked.

“That? Oh, that will strip the skin right off your body wherever it touches and burn right through to the bone.” Wesley replied. He took the key, pus and all and grimaced as it set to work doing what it did, but his Quickening kept healing him. He'd explained aspects of his immortality to Hawkins, Jones and Diana, and demonstrated his impossible healing. He'd explained that he had discovered, upon dying for the first time, that he was part of a rare subset of humans were just...immortal. He'd not told them about the one way to kill him – slice off his head – because the less people who knew about that, the better. He rubbed the pus off the key, then turned back to the demon. “If I hear about you being back in Los Angeles, I'll give you the same treatment I gave your friend.” Wesley told it tersely. “Understand?” The demon nodded slowly and then turned and scampered off. In as much as a creature as large as it was could be described as scampering, anyway. Wesley pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the key completely of its toxic cover. “Free Mr. O'Leary, then return to base and have Diana close out the file.” He tossed the now safe key to Hawkins, who caught it and nodded. He dropped the ruined handkerchief to the ground.

“Got it, boss.” The two turned and went down one of the myriad of tunnels that made up the L.A. sewer system. Really, it was almost as convenient as the one in Sunnydale...Wesley shook his head. He wouldn't be surprised if urban planners the world over had a few Vampires on staff, unknowingly, working to make their hunting grounds a little more hospitable for them and theirs. It certainly seemed the only reasonable explanation, anyway. 

Shrugging, Wesley turned and went down one of those tunnels himself.

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“Why do you do it?” Wesley asked her, that night, after she rolled off of him and laid on the other side of the bed next to him, stretching languidly.

Lilah chuckled. “I don't hear any complaints. Besides, I could ask you the same, after all. You're good, I'm evil. Why do you do it?”

Wesley put an arm behind his head. “Not this. I mean, why do you work for Wolfram and Hart? Is it just the money, power and influence?” Lilah sat up and looked down at him, brushing a stray hair out of her face.

“Why the sudden curiosity? Thinking of saving me from the big, bad, evil law firm? Saving me from myself like some knight charging in on a white horse?” She chuckled again. “Its a futile effort, Wes.”

Wesley shook his head. “I know I can't save you from yourself, Lilah. The only person who can do that is you. I'm just curious. I can understand being attracted to the money, the power, the allure of being without conscience. More so these days than I ever did before.”

Lilah raised an eyebrow and put two fingers on Wesley's chest, walking them up towards his face slowly. “Oh? Attracted enough to finally take the employment offer? Work for Wolfram and Hart?”

Now it was Wesley's turn to chuckle. “Still at it, Lilah? I thought you'd have given up by now.”

Lilah smirked. “Never.” The game, the dance continued. Though Wesley did believe that she was still interested in recruiting him and thought he would be an asset to Wolfram and Hart, it was definite that she was making no real moves efforts on that front, anymore. “That's why we'll win, you know. In the end?”

“Oh? How is that, you figure?” Wesley sat up as well. 

Lilah continued to trace patterns on his chest idly as she spoke. “Because long after you've given up, or assumed that you've won and had the celebration, we'll still be there, plotting, planning. Waiting for the moment to strike. Long after you've forgotten, we'll still be there.” Wesley rolled onto her and pinned her to the bed, his hands holding her arms down.

“I've never been one for giving up, Lilah.” He said, darkly. “What about you?”

She smiled, then licked her lips, slowly. “It can have its benefits, from time to time.”

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Roger Wyndam-Pryce had once told his son – well, the boy he called his son. Wesley knew that he couldn't, if he was an immortal, be the biological child of the man he'd grown up calling his father. It was actually quite satisfying to know that. Immortals were all foundlings, he knew. Wesley had often wondered, in the months since his first death, just how he'd ended up at the Wyndam-Pryce household. If his mother still lived, he'd have asked her, but these days the only person who lived in his family's substantial estate was his father, when he wasn't at Council Headquarters in London.

 

Wesley shook his head and returned to his previous train of thought. Roger Wyndam-Pryce had once told him, when he was young, that reflecting on the past, and chewing over your regrets and failures was a one-way ticket to insanity. Of course, then the man had gone on to raise Wesley on a diet of going over his every failure in excruciating detail, and never once rewarding his successes with the love and acceptance he'd so desperately wanted. As always, as everyone who'd ever been part of the council, Roger Wyndam-Pryce had been a hypocrite of the highest order. From Travers and his cronies on down to himself and Rupert Giles, so had every Watcher. It was almost a requirement. It probably was, on some cosmic ledger out there.

Like so much of his so-called father's advice, Wesley had completely ignored that little tidbit. Once again, he was reflecting. Lilah lay asleep next to him, a state of affairs that be liked and hated. The roiling turmoil of emotions he had when it came to her were better left untouched, unconsidered. So, instead, because...well, maybe he was a glutton for punishment, he was thinking back to Sunnydale again.  Still, it was an unhealthy train of thought, and so he forced himself to get off of it. He turned his head to look at Lilah. She was as beautiful asleep as she was awake, and even asleep she still gave off her 'beautiful and deadly'...vibe, for lack of a better word. 

It was the dance they danced that kept her coming back, he considered. She was past the point of thinking she could seduce him into working for Wolfram and Hart with actual seduction and its related activities. Well, unless she was secretly possessed of a degree of stupidity he'd never seen her display. As much as he enjoyed the sex – and it certainly seemed she did too, though the woman was nothing if not a consummate actor and liar.  _ Now isn't that a pleasing thought, Wesley? _ He thought to himself.

Even if he made the assumption she enjoyed it as much or nearly as much as he did, he doubted it was the reason – or at least, not the main one – why the two of them found themselves together nearly every night now. This was the first night that she'd stayed in his bed, though. Either she'd left first, once they were done, or he would tell her to leave. Tonight, he'd not wanted her to leave, and she'd seemed to express no interest in leaving either.

The dance they danced was an odd one. She was fully, unapologetically evil, and he actually envied how clear cut her worldview was. Even Angel lacked a worldview as straightforward as hers. The only person he could think of that was so certain of the line between good and evil – and where everyone and everything sat in that continuum was Buffy Summer's friend, Xander Harris. Cordelia came close, but she was still slightly 'crooked' in her worldview.

Lilah possessed a sharp wit, and every carefully chosen word was a puzzle in itself. The two of them were different, and the same, on a number of levels. He found himself actually glad, to his own surprise and mild worry, that she was immortal. Her line of work was almost certainly going to end with a violent death for her, either from within Wolfram and Hart, or from without it. And the thought her being dead – and staying dead – bothered him more than he liked. Not only was she the enemy, in the abstract sense, but caring that much, about anyway, was not something he wanted to do, not so soon. The people who you cared about the most had the greatest power to hurt you. A trite cliché, but like all clichés, entirely true. Sometimes, clichés did say it best.

He didn't care about her that much, not yet, and he certainly didn't imagine that he ever would...then, when he'd first started working alongside Angel, he'd certainly not expected to become friends with the man – or turn down a chance to return to the Council, in favor of continuing to work with a vampire, soul or no. Life was funny like that. The future was unpredictable, to say the least.

Whatever it was he felt for Lilah, on any level, it would happen on its own, and he found that he didn't care enough to try and steer it, or stop it before anything happened. He had enough regrets, and since Wesley fully intended to live as long as he possibly could, he didn't want to accumulate more.


	8. What is This?

**Disclaimer:** Angel the Series, Highlander the Series, own neither, I do.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 8: What Is This?

Wesley woke to the smell of fresh coffee. He turned his head to the side – Lilah was gone. Her clothes were no longer strewn across the floor. And there was coffee brewing. He certainly wasn't brewing it. He rolled out of bed and got dressed, headed out of his bedroom, to see Lilah doing just what he'd imagined she was. In his kitchen, brewing coffee.

“How domestic, Lilah. Are you going to start cooking too?”

Lilah scoffed. “My cooking would do a better job of killing you than Justine did.”  _ I highly doubt that.  _ Wesley thought. “Given the time, there's no reason for me to go back to my apartment before heading on to work. So I made myself some coffee.” The coffee machine beeped and she poured herself a cup. Wesley went over after she sat down at his table and poured himself one as well. He stood as he drank it. “I was surprised to see you had a coffee machine.” Her tone was playful.

“Don't worry. I still prefer tea most of the time. You can keep your preconceptions.” He took another sip of his coffee. “We never got around to finishing that conversation, last night.” He said. 

“No.” Lilah replied. “You were a little busy pinning me down and fucking me into the mattress.”

Wesley shook his head. “I'm still interested in an answer. Why? Why do you work for Wolfram and Hart?”

“You say you're not trying to 'redeem' me, or 'save me from myself'. But if that's true, why are you so curious?”

That was the real question, wasn't it? Not why was he so curious. But did he want to redeem her? Wesley didn't answer immediately, mulling over the real question as he drank his coffee. He had told the truth last night – the only person who could redeem her, at the end of the day, was her. Change didn't come externally. He hadn't become the person he was today because of external pressures...well, not directly, anyway. He'd chosen to change, in part to cope with all that had happened externally...

The fact that Lilah was dark, evil...that didn't bother him so much. She was a different kind of evil. He didn't doubt that she was perfectly capable of killing if she needed to, but she had done little to no murder herself, he would guess. Or any other kind of killing. And it wasn't as if she made the evil happen, not really. She facilitated it. In some ways, Wesley considered, he was more evil than she was. As much as killing Justine was a good idea – she was never going to drop her vendetta against Angel, or him, once he let her go... it was still probably the wrong thing to do, morally speaking. Not that he cared. He'd tortured her, even if it was a fairly light and slow method of it.

Lilah...redeem her? It wasn't exactly what he wanted, not fully. It was the darkness in her that appealed to him as much as anything else, a close companion to the darkness within him. The problem was that she worked for Wolfram and Hart. Lilah lacked the malevolence that really marked the transition point from amorality to evil, but she worked for an organization that wanted to create something he had absolutely no interest in being created. The end of the world. He didn't want to save her from darkness, because like him, darkness was part of who and what she was..but he would have much prefer to see her work anywhere but Wolfram and Hart. He shrugged mentally and finally answered her question. He would, he suspected, never figure out what was and wasn't between them.

“I'm curious because I want to understand you. Understand how you think. What makes you tick.”

“You understand the last one just fine, Wes.” She said with a smirk. “You don't need to understand all that much. We're not even friends. Just two people who fuck each other.”

“What is it that we have, then?” Wesley asked, taking another sip. “What is this....thing between us? An arrangement?”

“Something like that.” Lilah said with a reply. “What do you think it is?”

Wesley shrugged. “Who knows? I'd not say its a relationship. You're right, we are just two people who fuck each other.”

A strange look passed across her face at his words, but only for a few tenths of second. Wesley barely noticed the transition, and wondered what she had hidden with that shift back to her normal expression. “Isn't it? A relationship is just interaction between two people. You had a relationship with Angel, and with all your little friends.”

“Former friends.” Wesley corrected. 

“Slip of the tongue.” Lilah said 'innocently'. 

“The word relationship usually implies more than just acquaintance or friendship, though. Using it to describe something implies...deeper connection.”

“But that's not definitional.” She chuckled a moment then stood up, her coffee finished, and walked up to him. She put a hand on the front of his shirt and ran it along his chest. “I think that between the two of us, you'll call this a relationship before I do.” 

“Why do you say that?”

“Call it a hunch, Wes. I _know_ you. Better than your friends – excuse me,” she corrected herself with an unapologetically bright and sarcastic smile, “ _former_ friends, ever did, or ever could. You only ever showed them part of the 'Wesley Wyndam-Pryce Package'. I've seen the whole thing. So I think I have an idea of what you'll do.”

“Care to wager on that? Continue with the game?” He traced a hand up her left side, his half-finished coffee sitting forgotten on the counter. 

“Always.” Lilah replied. “A dollar.”

“Just a dollar?” Wesley cocked an eyebrow.

“You offering more?” 

Wesley considered for a moment, then, “Well, I'll have to admit you're right.”

“Worth a hell of a lot more than a dollar, I'd say. There is quite a lot at stake then.” She gave him a quick kiss that Wesley deepened, a hand in her hair. She pulled back a few moments later. “Shall I stop by again tonight?”

“I don't have any particular plans. If you're not busy, I'm sure we can find a way to entertain ourselves.”

“Sounds like a date, then.” She said with another smile. “Well, close enough, anyway.”

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“According to those vamps we dusted last night,” Hawkins was saying, going over a building blueprint laid out on Wesley's coffee table, “The leader of this freaky cult operates out of this building. What is his title again?”

“He calls himself the Dragon of California.” Wesley said. “And he's the one that had that Gygean Skull stolen from our client?”

“According to the security camera image Diana recovered, yea. The guy's minions did a number on it, but she managed to get enough. They all had this weird symbol on their foreheads.” He handed a printed picture from the recovered footage. Three vampires, all with their game faces on. The symbol on each of their foreheads was the most important piece of information in the photograph. “What is it, anyway?”

“A bastardization of Assyrian Cuneiform.” Wesley said. “It doesn't actually mean anything, but it is still the symbol of Cultists of the so-called Blood King.”

“What is this Blood King? Something we should worry about when we hit the place?”

“Absolutely not.” Wesley replied. “He's a demon who was summoned by an unnamed Assyrian during the time of Hammurabi, sent to destroy Babylon. A trio of Babylonian wizards bound him back into the hell dimension he came from, and he's been unable to act directly in the mortal sphere ever since. He's managed to put together a small cult among vampires and the more insane humans since, communicating with them via dreams and the like, but the cults have never amounted to much. Sacrifices, the occasional demon summoning. What you'd expect from your standard vampire cult. Their ultimate leader supposedly lives somewhere in what was old Assyria, going by the title 'Dragon of Assyria, but that's neither here nor there.” _I do need to be a touch less rambling on some of things things._ He looked back down at the blueprints. “They'll be keeping the skull in the basement.” 

“To bad we need to get the skull back. We could solve the whole nest with a few incendiary grenades.” Hawkins noted. “We still should be able to send a few down in without damaging the skull.” He tapped one of the rooms. “They wouldn't keep it in the same room as the stairs up and down, would they?”

“I don't think they're that stupid, though in the case of most vampires it usually is more profitable to bet that they're idiots.” He looked over the blue prints again. “You, Jones and I will go down the stairs, each toss in one incendiary and then go in shotguns firing as soon as we're in.” Hawkins started to ask a question, but Wesley supplied the answer before he got it out. “Dragon's Breath shells.” Hawkins nodded. Wesley started to go on but his phone rang. He picked it up. “Pryce here.”

“Hello Wes.” Lilah's voice came across the line.

“Lilah.” He lowered the phone and nodded at Hawkins. “I'll meet you back at base.” Hawkins nodded and left. He lifted the phone back up. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” 

“Oh Wes, I'm insulted. Do I need a reason to call you? Maybe I just want to hear your voice and that sexy accent of yours.”

“If that was all you wanted, you'd be waiting until later tonight.”

“Yea, about that.” Lilah said, with a chuckle. “Negotiations with this particular demon clan are looking to be running over. They're hard headed literally and figuratively. So I'm going to have to cancel, I'm-”

“No, don't be.” Wesley interjected, calmly. This was good, in its own way, given that he would have probably had to cancel on her himself, depending on things with the cult went. “I'm working late as well, its fine.”

“You're working late too? And here I was imagining you waiting for me to arrive with bated breath.” Lilah pouted.

Wesley chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint, Lilah. Nor am I waiting at the door with a scowl and a burnt pot roast.”

“No, I certainly wasn't going to expect that level of domesticity out you just yet. It's too early. I'm sure there's some way we can work our schedules together.”

“Well, if your lot can have the world destroyed by midnight we could still,” he was interrupted by a beeping from his phone. “Damn it, hold on a moment,” He switched to the other line, “Pryce here.”

It was Diana, “We've got someone on the other line. They had a meeting with Angel, but then he up and vanished. Left town. Should I -”

“Yes we'll bloody well take Angel's clients if he's out of town. Get the details. Get Hawkins and Jones on it if its something standard. Call me back if its not.” He switched back to Lilah. “Sorry Lilah, but midnight not be-”

“Oh come on Wes, I'm wearing the red-”

“Oh you are? That's my favorite pair. Are you sitting at your desk?”

“Yes.”

“Take them off.” 

“I'm about to have a meeting, Wes.” Lilah resisted. “I hardly think now is the time. I can after-”

“No, not after your meeting.” Wesley sank down onto his sofa. “Now.”

There was the sound of doors opening on the other end. “Wes, I'm-”

“Pretend you dropped your pencil.”

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The darkness of the basement was no hazard to the vampires that called it home. Two were waiting, just at the stairs. Enjoying a pair of college girls they'd picked up. Already dead, but still plenty of blood left for snacking.

Three small metal spheres bounced down the stairs. There was a faint hissing coming from them. One of the vampires looked up from the neck his snack, looked at the spheres, then at his fellow vamp. “Hey, don't those look like-” He looked back at the spheres.“Oh shit.” All three of them exploded in blasts of flame, roasting the guards, and charbroiling their meals.

Wesley crouched next to the girls' bodies. “We'll call the police when we're done here. They can pick up the bodies, identify them and notify their families.”

“You will end up done here,” another voice came from deeper in the basement, “but you won't be in a position to call anyone.” A half-dozen vampires stepped into view, illuminated in the flickering shadows of a handful of remnant flames. “You just messed with the wrong nest of vampires.”

“Really?” Wesley was shocked, “I was sure that this was where the local Cult of the Blood King made its headquarters.” The vampire speaking actually had the gall to look a little shocked. Really, when you tattooed every member of your cult with a specific symbol, you had expect that people would recognize you. “You are the ones that stole a Gygean Skull two nights ago? If you just hand it over,” Wesley raised his shotgun, Hawkins and Jones following suit, “Then things won't have to get violent.” He looked at the two piles of dust. “Well...more violent, anyway.”

The vampire made no response, and all of them charged. And all of them got toasted by the three men blasting out flames from their guns, spent Dragon's Breath shells clattered on the ground as they pumped and fired again for good measure. Hawkins coughed at the dust swirling in the air.

“Where now?” Jones asked as Wesley pulled a flashlight from his coat. 

“Now we find the so called Dragon and get the Gygean Skull back.” The immortal let the light play over the room, looking for the door that would lead to the shrine. Fortunately, there was only one door. It took the three of them, however, some time, wandering through dark, abandoned halls by flashlight. There were no more encounters with Vampires until they reached the shrine.

The Shrine to the Blood King was...well, in a word, blood soaked.

The walls themselves were painted with blood, not one inch uncovered in dried, browned blood. At the center of the room sat a table made of bones, the top part covered with a once-black tablecloth, freshly soaked in more blood. On the alter itself sat three skulls. One covered in runes. The Gygean Skull they'd come to retrieve. The other two had been fashioned into goblets, with yet more blood in them, black candles sticking out of blood, lit.

Only Wesley managed to not stumble and retch, but it took all his control to avoid doing that. The iron, acrid stench of blood, both new and old, was oppressive. The air was thick and hot with it, making Wesley almost feel like a vampire with every breath he took.  _ Get the skull, and get out of here _ . There were some places that just were  _ wrong _ , on a very basic level. Humans had little in the way of truly universal fears, but one of the things that came closest to one was the idea of drowning in blood. And Wesley felt nearer to that than he ever thought possible. 

“Hello,” A voice came from behind the ex-Watcher, and suddenly an arm was around his neck, locking him in position. “And what have we here? Three humans, just thinking they can walk in and defile MY shrine to the glory of the Blood King?” Hawkins and Jones hurried – though not fast enough – to bring their guns to bear on the vamp and their boss. Too late. Wesley felt the fangs pierce his jugular, the pain...blood flowing out of his body. A basic, primal, instinctual fear overtook him, for all the intellectual understanding he had of his own immortality, of the fact that his blood would kill the vampire...he saw his imminent death, felt is lingering over him like a dark shadow...

And suddenly, it stopped. The arm around his neck slid off, the vampire staggering back, holding his head. “What-?! What the hell  _ are  _ you!?” Blue lightning began to dance across his body, first small burns as the lighting hit spot to spot, but more and more. “Nooo!” The vampire screamed and vanished in still more lightning, its final cries echoing through the room, and burning themselves into Wesley's mind. The Quickening in action.

Wesley turned to the altar and grabbed the skull. “Hawkins, Jones. Get the gasoline from the van. We're burning this place to ashes.” He spun on his heel and left the room, the other two left in his dust as he strode too fast for them to keep up easily. Jones looked over at Hawkins.

“That thing he did with the lightning? Wicked cool.”

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As it turned out for both of them, their respective schedules didn't work that night. The next night however, things were better. The return of the Gygean Skull to its owner had netted a tidy profit for his team, and the job Angel's would-be client hadn't taken all that long either. Lilah had little in the way of pressing things to do as well, which left them both with time.

Both of them lay in his bed, both utterly spent. Wesley looked at her, in his arms, cuddling up against him. He'd finally reached the decision that he didn't care. Well, he did. He cared about Lilah, and he didn't care that he did. It wasn't love – not yet, maybe never – but she occupied a place in his heart. And he...wasn't going to worry about it. Whatever was going to come might well be difficult, perhaps even enough to be a threat even to his existence – or Lilah's... but he was going to live his life.

And, for as long as he could, for the foreseeable future, anyway, he wanted to live that life with Lilah. Not that they'd end up married, with that little house in the suburbs, with the white picket fence and two and a half children. He smirked at that. No. Even leaving aside the sterility of immortals, the very idea of that kind of life would drive them both mad. With his degrees, even leaving aside the lack of references he'd been left with upon being fired from the Council, he could have had a number of jobs in universities or museums across the country. Upon being fired by Angel the first time, that option still remained. In theory, he still had that option. Not that he would ever have taken it. Such a dull, sedate life would have bored him. And so it would Lilah.

“It's not a secret.” Lilah said half-tiredly, moving in closer to him, her head on his chest. Her eyes were still closed.

Wesley looked at her, “What isn't a secret?”

“Us. The firm. They know that we're...doing this.” Wesley chuckled. _Not really a surprise, is it?_

“Isn't it their job to know these sorts of things? The sordid details of their employee's lives?”

Lilah smiled, “Mmm...yeah, you're right. I just thought I should tell you.” She paused and shifted position ever so slightly and in a way that sent a minor jolt through him. “Sordid.” She made a cat-like snarl. “I just love it when you talk like that to me.” Then, “Angel knows too.”

Wesley shrugged. “Of course he does. He had to have smelled you on me when I was driving him back to the Hyperion, if not earlier. Doesn't matter. I don't work for Angel anymore, and the value of his opinion to me is less than nothing. Even if I was working with or for him, who I choose to have a relationship with is none of his concern under any circumstances.”

Lilah's head snapped up and she looked sharply at him. Wriggling out his his grip she rolled ontop of him, straddling him, her hands on his chest. “A dollar. You owe me a dollar.” She said in a teasing voice.

Why did he owe-. “Oh damn!” The bet. What actually bothered him that she'd been right, and had one this part of their game, than anything else. There was no true vehemence behind his curse.

“You called this a relationship.” Her voice was quiet. She pressed a quick kiss to his forehead as he reached for his wallet on the bedside table, then added, in a sing-song voice, “You lost the bet, you said it first.” He took a dollar out and held it taught between his hands. “Sign it first, as proof.”

“Proof? Of what?”

“Of now. Of you admitting that I was right.” She leaned in towards him a bit. “Of this.” She pressed her lips to his. For a while, anyway, the two of them weren't tired.

Eventually though, they fell asleep. Wesley's sleep was, for a change, pleasantly dreamless – or at least if he was dreaming, he didn't remember it when the ringing of a cell phone woke him up. He new immediately it wasn't his from the ring-tone. Lilah groaned and reached for the lamp, flipping it on and grabbing her phone. “Yeah?” Pause, “Hold on.” She sat up and got out of the bed, stepping out of his bedroom, partially – but not completely – closing the door behind her. Something was off. He slid out of the bed and quietly stood on the other side of the ajar door, listening. “She's back?” _Who? She wants me to hear this..._ “And you got a positive visual of her?” Pause. “You're sure that it's her? Mhm-hm. She's with the kid?” Pause. “That's unexpected.” Another pause. “Put an extraction team together. I'm on my way.” She closed the phone and pushed open the door fully to step back into the room. Wesley had his arms folded in front of him, standing there. 

“I assume that was arranged entirely for my benefit.” 

“Eavesdropping on my phone calls, Wes?”

Wesley shook his head. “No. If you didn't want me to hear, you would have made it more difficult for me to hide and listen in without your noticing by closing that door entirely and going to the other end of my living room. Since you didn't I assume this is some plan of yours.” He thought a moment. “Someone – someone female – is back, from somewhere. Since you wanted me to hear, I assume its someone I know. That narrows it significantly. It also would have to be someone Wolfram and Hart would arrange an extraction team for.” He looked at her pointedly. “Cordelia has returned from her extra-dimensional trip and she's with...Angel's hellspawn, am I right?”

Lilah smirked. “I have to say, I'm a little impressed you got it so fast. Yes.”

“So why do you want me to -” It occurred to him. “You want me to warn Angel that you're going to try and get Cordelia and Connor.” His mind raced with his various options, settling on the one he wanted quickly. “I'll warn him. I'll do what you want?”

“Just like that? You'll help us? Does that mean you're finally going to work with the firm?”

“No. I have conditions. Like I want to know why you want me to warn him. Before I make the call.”

Lilah frowned. “You'll warn him no matter what the reason is?”

Wesley frowned, then, “Unless whatever you're planning involves killing Angel or his friends, in which case just don't tell me. If it involves Connor dying...” He let out a deep breath. “I almost okay with that. I give my life trying to save the little monster, and what happens? He works with the woman who killed me and drowns his father. We'd probably be better off if – even if the prophecy had been true – I'd just gone ahead and done nothing.” Then, “Well, maybe not entirely better off.” He said, leaning in and giving Lilah a quick kiss.

Lilah smirked, “No, no death. Cordelia was on a higher plane. Specifically, she had ascended to become a being just below the Powers that Be themselves. Found out there's all kinds of rules restricting what she can and can't do, and descended. Just...without a memory. Of anything. Who she is, who Angel is – and isn't that fun for our friendly neighborhood vampire?” She chuckled. “He'll have had Lorne read her, and since Cordelia doesn't remember anything – making her less immediately useful to the firm, for the time being – I want to get my hands on whatever Lorne saw.”

Wesley went over to the bedside table and grabbed his phone. “I want a copy of whatever it is you pull out of Lorne's head.”

“Sure.” She said brightly, as Wesley dialed the Hyperion

Fred's voice picked up on the other end. “Angel Investigations, we help the hopeless.”

“Fred, put Angel on the line. Its about Cordelia.” There was a brief pause, the transfer of the phone, then Angel.

“What is it, Wesley?” Angel's tone was impatient, terse, and upset. Probably the vampire was still...upset about the whole stealing his son incident. “What do you know about Cordelia.”

“A bit careless, misplacing her so soon after she came back.” Wesley said, casually.

“Get to the point, Wes.”

“Cordelia is with your hellspawn.” He continued on tersely before Angel could be indignant about that epithet for his son, “And Wolfram and Hart is sending an extraction team after the both of them. Two targets they'd like, together, and you're not there to save them. If you want to, save them that is, then I suggest you hurry.”

“How do you know this?”

“How do you think, Angel? Those heightened senses of yours must be good for something. Now stop dawdling and do the grunt work you do best.” Wesley hung up. Angel was a champion, and while he was capable of numerous good ideas, he was also capable of making mind-bogglingly stupid ones. A Champion is the greatest warrior for a given side. You don't but a strong warrior in charge of the army though. You put a general. Or at least vet the champion for tactical and strategic skill. He looked at Lilah. “I suppose you still have to leave to oversee things. Could you... do me a favor and get some of my books from the Hyperion? I never actually managed to get them before I left.”

Lilah smirked and started to get dressed.

**Author's Note:** The Blood King is entirely my invention, as is his little cult. Just playing around with the Buffyverse a bit.


	9. Questions Answered, Questions Raised

**Disclaimer:** I Don't own Angel or Highlander. 

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 9: Questions Answered, Questions Raised

Science was not Wesley's specialty, but he did like to keep abreast of the latest developments, and he had a more than cursory understanding of the deeper principles. It was while reading about some of those developments that he'd found the article. “Super Symmetry and P-Dimensional Subspace”, by Winifred Burkle. Interesting. She'd gotten back into physics. Good for her. Out of idle curiosity, more than anything else, he read a summation of what the article was about, but didn't bother reading the whole thing. He wasn't a physicist, and so he wasn't going to be able to follow it, and besides, Fred wasn't his concern anymore. Gunn had her, and they were welcome to each other.

He'd just finished reading that summary and closed out of the web page when there was another knock on the door. Lilah. He set computer down and opened the door. Lilah was there, holding a large box all done up with a bow.

“Surprise.” She said with...it was more than smirk, but not quite a smile. He couldn't think of a word in the English language for it exactly. 

“And what's the occasion?” He said, nodding to the gift. 

“Actually, I brought two things.” She handed him the box. Whatever was inside it was heavy. He set it down on the coffee table as Lilah stepped in, closing the door behind her. She handed him a manilla folder. “Everything we got from Lorne.” It had been two days since the anagogic demon had had Wolfram and Hart brain-suck him. “Took us a while to figure out how to turn that psychic package onto something paper. Every time our psychics took a look at it, their brains exploded. It was hell on the cleaning bill. Research hasn't been able to make heads or tails of it either.” Wesley opened the folder, but set it down for a moment, to open the box. He lifted the contents out. It was a knight's helmet, High Middle Ages. From what he could tell, entirely genuine. He looked in askance at her. “We seem to be butting heads lately. Now you'll have the upper hand.”

“This must've cost a fortune.” 

She smiled, “Yes.” She took it from his hands and put it back in the box. “It'll take you...hours to thank me properly.” She slid her hands up his arms and shoulders to cup his face, pulling him in for a kiss.

After a moment, Wesley pressed her back gently.

“Lilah, I want an answer. You've been putting it off, and I can't accept that. I want an answer to the question.”

Lilah stepped back, irritation and hurt playing across her features. “Why Wesley?! Why does it matter so damn much to you? I work for Wolfram and Hart, you obviously can deal with it, or else we wouldn't be standing here having this conversation! Why the hell do you-”

Wesley grabbed her wrist with a loose grip. “Dammit Lilah! Because I care about you! God help me, I care about you, and I even – I even trust you, mostly. Because I need to know. I need to know.” He had been almost yelling when he started, but by the end, his words were quieter, his voice raw with emotion.

Lilah looked as dumbstruck at hearing his outburst as he was at saying it. He known those things were true...but he hadn't expected to say them. Hadn't planned on it. It just...happened. She sat down on the couch, slowly. She said nothing for a few moments, and Wesley sat next to her, a hand on her shoulder, making small circles there with his thumb.

“Look- Lilah...I...” He was interrupted when she began to talk.

“When I graduated law school...I had job offers.” There was a hollowness to her voice that Wesley had never heard before. Even when she'd just been 'generic evil lawyer #2' he always seen that she was... he continued to listen, “Lots of them. I was damn good. But there are only so many positions, too many graduates...and all the paralegal positions, the internships, other offers. But the money...I graduated with a heap of student loans, assorted other debts, and my mother was just starting to become the almost vegetable that doesn't recognize me she is today. The medical bills...” Wesley heard a slight, faint hint of bitterness underlying her words.

“I'd heard about Wolfram and Hart...you know...they get a reputation. Defending the worst kinds of clients. Unethical practices...witness intimidation, jury tampering, blackmail, bribery. Whatever it took to get their clients off. Win the cases. Nothing but rumors of course...I didn't care. Never been particularly selfless or noble person to begin with...I saw the money they were offering...more than enough for my mother's medical bills, I'd be able to start getting a handle on my debt. I don't know if I was ever bothered, then, about what I'd heard, maybe I was...I can't remember.”

“Once your name's on the dotted line...its a simple contract. I read through it completely. Even went over it with a microscope...nothing about handing over your first born, your soul, standard perpetuity. No, those come in later. They don't tell you about the demons, and by the time you figure out...you can't leave. And what are you going to do? Tell people the Law Firm that you work for is run by extra-dimensional demons with agendas that span thousands of years? They'd lock you in the loony bin.”

“Working at Wolfram and Hart...it changes you. It starts small. First you start to get used to...to accept everything your co-workers do. You have to, to stay sane. Then...then they give you a case. The kind that'll make or break your career with the firm. But its one that...the client is so obviously guilty, so stupid...there's no way...no matter how good you are, that you'll win the case on its own merits. So...you start to do the same things. You get promoted. Promise them your soul...sign the perpetuity clause. You lose you conscience. You can't have one...can't live with yourself. And you can't leave. You can't stop them. Wolfram and Hart...too powerful...the Senior Partners are eternal. Angel...you...anyone that tries to stop them...at best you delay them, or you're just wasting your time. At worst...you're playing into their hands.” There was a resigned...defeated tone he'd never heard from her before. The bitterness in her voice wasn't hidden anymore, either.

“So what? Do you...do you _want_ the world to end? Have you come to... _enjoy_ the work you do for Wolfram and Hart?”

It took her a few moments to answer that. “Enjoy? No...I don't enjoy much of anything, anymore. I mean...I enjoy success, a job well done. Even if the job itself is repulsive. I enjoy getting at people I don't like. I enjoy you...I...hell, I care about you....didn't see that one coming.” She looked at him again, then shook herself out of her melancholy. She put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him towards her. “Now...I believe there was something about paying me back.” She leaned in to kiss him.

As they set to work on that, a part of his mind still worked, still thought. An idea had occurred to him. He wasn't human. He'd been curious, so he'd found a spell to detect humanity. It treated Slayers, and spellcasters, and humans with enhancements like humans...but the spell hadn't seen him as human. It hadn't bothered him. Though that lack of being bothered had in turned, bothered him. But...Lilah wasn't human. She hadn't been human when she signed any of her contracts with Wolfram and Hart. She didn't know it, and the Senior Partners didn't know it....but it was true. Very true.

He put that thought aside as Lilah pushed him back onto the bed. He could worry about that later. He'd need to check a few things first anyway...

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

“Like I said, we've been getting nowhere on these things.” Lilah told him later that night. The two of them were sitting on the couch going over the hundred-odd pages of information extracted from Lorne's head over boxes of takeout Chinese.

Wesley muttered a curse in Babylonian. “I can see why. Its gibberish. At least two dozen demon and human languages – most of them older than Latin, bits of glyphs, arcane symbols. Individually, they all have meaning. Shrine, flesh, heat, fallen.” He said, randomly selected words off of one page to translate. “But jumbled up like this...its nothing. Gibberish.”

Lilah stood up and stretched, popping her neck. “I think we both need to take a break.” She walked around the couch and stood behind him, rubbing his shoulder muscles idly. Then she saw something, as he turned to a new page. “Wait, go back.” Wesley did so, and she reached around him and held it out just a bit. He saw it too. A pattern, something connecting them. He stood and started to move his couch. They'd need space. That was when the knock came. They both looked up. “You expecting someone?'

Wesley shook his head. “If it was my team, they'd call...” He stood. He didn't sense any Quickening...he wasn't wearing his collapsible sword at the moment, so he grabbed the one he kept by the door and answered the door.

It was Fred. And she had a furious expression...with a hint of viscous murderousness that he'd never seen on her before. She didn't have a weapon though, so with any luck...well, she wouldn't be able to kill him anyway. “Wesley...I need your help.” She didn't let him go into his 'why should I help you' speech. “I'll pay you, if that'll make you help. You're the only person I remotely trust that knows enough to help me on this.”

“Help you with what?” Lilah said stepping into Fred's view and walking towards the door. Fred's eyes widened and she stepped back instinctively. 

“Wes...what is _she_ doing here?” She looked past them and saw the boxes of takeout Chinese. “You're- you're having dinner with her?! What the hell is going on Wesley?!”

“Yes I'm having dinner with her. That's something you do with a person you're dating, generally.” 

“You're _dating_ her? She's the enemy! God! Charles was right about you!” She recoiled. “You _are_ working for Wolfram and Hart!”

“I wish.” Lilah said. “We've offered him an impressive sum of money – more with every offer – but he keeps turning us down.”

“Fred, what exactly did you come here for-” He heard the ring of Fred's cell phone, and the physicist grabbed it. She opened it, he saw, upside, that it was a text message of strange, arcane symbols...He snatched at the phone just as the air behind her ripped open and a portal – perfectly circular – opened up. It began sucking, the wind picking up, Fred sliding towards it. 

Their friendship may have passed, but Wesley was damned if he was going to let Fred get sucked into another hell dimension. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the apartment, slamming the door behind her. He heard the portal continue to roar a minute on the other side, then close.

“What was it you needed my help with?” Wesley said, calmly, as if nothing had happened. “I assume that portal that just got text messaged to you is part of it.”

Fred took a deep, shaky breath, and nodded. She explained what had happened, the portal that had opened above her when she was giving her lecture, the demon that had tried to kill her. How they'd figured out her professor, a man she'd idolized, Oliver Siedel had been behind it all along. Had sent her to Pylea...and was without a doubt trying to get rid of her again.

“I want to do to him what he did to me, what he did to who knows how many of his other students.” She said with an anger, a roiling hate he'd never heard from her before. “I want to send _him_ though a portal to a hell dimension.” 

Wesley didn't need any time. He went over to one of the innumerable shelves he had and traced his finger along the spines, checking the titles before finding one. A treatise on a particularly nasty hell dimension. Ranking only a few steps behind Quor'Toth, actually. Including instructions on how to open a portal to it. He opened to that particular page and handed her the book. “This should be enough. You'll need to keep him within about twenty feet of you while you open the portal.”

“Thank you.”

“Just tell Gunn not to kill me on sight.” Fred couldn't leave fast enough, however, and was out the door before he'd finished. Wesley turned to Lilah.

“I get the feeling she doesn't like you.”

Lilah smiled. “The feelings mutual. I'm not particularly fond of the Texas twig myself.” Wesley frowned at her a moment, then the two of them turned back to the papers. Now that they knew the pattern, it was easy to assemble them in the right way to reveal the proper picture. Wesley recognized it immediately.

“The Eye of Fire. Ancient alchemical symbol for fire and destruction.”

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

The phones at his office were going off the hook. He imagined Angel and friends were probably having the exact same problems.

“Rats, snakes and insects coming out of pipes, birds flying into windows and blood oozing from the walls.” Diana was saying, reading off a list. “And that's just the beginning. We've got even more swarms of bugs, reports of food just suddenly rotting...what the hell is going on. The phones are ringing off the-” As if to punctuate her words, the phone started to ring again, interrupting her. She picked it up and answered. Wesley turned to Hawkins and Jones, who were checking their weapons.

“What the hell is going on Wesley?” Jones asked. “We're in the business of doing something large and violent, but right now we don't have any targets.”

“Everything that's happening are among the standard harbingers of apocalypse.”

“Apocalypse? The world's about to end? You have to be kidding me.”

Wesley shook his head. “Not likely. The world almost ends at least twice a year. We're still here. Now, granted, most of the apocalypses the world faces don't tend to advertise themselves so much.” He sighed, rubbing at his left temple a moment. “There's something larger coming.” He turned back to Diana. “Plot the incidents on a map, see if there's something, a pattern.” He turned back to Jones and Hawkins. “Wolfram and Hart is just as lost as we are. My source,” other than Lilah, that is. He did have another man in the Firm, which had been a help several times recently. “says that they are chattering a lot about an 'Eye of Fire'.”

“That doesn't sound good.”

“Not in the least.”

“Wes, take a look at this.” She brought up the map on her computer. “There are some things elsewhere, but look.” She pointed a cluster, diamond shaped area. “I checked. In the exact center of the place, there's this new club, on top of the Kimball building. Sky Temple.”

“It looks as it whatever is going on has its focal point right there.” He nodded to Hawkins and Jones. “Grab your gear. We're going there.” 

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

Figuring out that what they'd pulled from Lorne's head was the Eye of Fire had proven to be less useful than one might expect, Lilah considered.

“A 300% increase? In the last hour?”

“Something's going on.” The man on the other side of the line said. Lilah rolled her eyes.

“Ya think? Well don't. Just shut up. Get me an incident report, cross-referenced by region, socioeconomic background and species.” She arrived at the door to her office. “Oh, and get Gavin up here. Someone's trying to muscle in on our apocalypse and that is not gonna happen while-” When she looked up as she entered the room, she saw the dark avenger himself sitting on the edge of her desk. “Let me get back to you.” She hung up the phone.

“Close the door.”

“How did you get in here?” She closed the door though and stepped forward. “Vampire detectors my ass. Well, here we are, all nice and cozy. Let's talk about – hmm, gee let me guess, Lorne? How is he? Still green?”

“You didn't think we wouldn't be having a conversation about that, did you?”

“Would never dream of it.” Lilah quipped, “I'd love to have this talk, but I'm having a bit of a day, so let's say we skip the usual two-step, you threaten me, I threaten you, yadda, yadda, yawn. Jump directly to the throwing you out on your thick, meaty head. 'Cause, you know what? You're not getting anything out of me.” 

Angel shook his head. “Didn't think I would. But Gavin...he was more accommodating.” He nodded past her, and she turned to see Gavin tied to a chair, gagged. He wasn't even bruised.

“You couldn't have at least tortured him a little more?”

“Really wanted to, but he wouldn't stop talking long enough to get into it.”

“I have a cure for that.” She said, glaring at her former rival with narrowed eyes.

“Vindict in your own time. I'm kinda on the clock here.”

“What did he tell you?”

“The Eye of Fire. What does it have to do with what's going on?”

Lilah shrugged, “I haven't the slightest idea. Of course, I couldn't have figured it out without the help of an old friend of yours. Talk to Wesley lately?”

“I'm not here about that. I want a copy of what you pulled out of my friend.”

“You're not going to find out any more.”

“Maybe, but maybe not. If you give it to me, its a win, win for you. If I don't figure it out, well, you've lost nothing. If I do figure it out...You help me, I stop it, Wolfram and Hart makes you employee of the month for protecting everything they set in motion for the last thousand years. You help me and I don't stop it, well, I mean the only way that's gonna happen is if this thing kills me. And if that's the way it goes, you win again. So, you can keep playing it hard, or you can play it smart. It's up to you.”

“I don't generally fit you into the 'smart' category, Angel. Your track record of stupid decisions as both Angel and Angelus, not to mention when you were still human, somewhat speaks for itself.”

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

Wesley, Hawkins and Jones arrived at Sky Temple only moments before all hell broke loose. The demon was larger than a human, but only by two or so feet. It was complete with horns and cloven feet, though it lacked a tail. It looked as if it was made from rocks, and glowed with some kind of inner fire, or something like it. It immediately began plowing its way through the patrons. All three of them grabbed their shotguns and started opening fire on it as soon as they had clear room. It staggered back, looking perhaps at little hurt as round after round slammed into its chest and face. It fell to its knees.

“I didn't think it would be that easy-” Hawkins was interrupted when the demon stood back up, a grin on its face and grabbed the fallen body of one of the patrons and threw it at them, sending them falling to the ground like bowling pins. It thundered slowly towards them, at least having the decency to move like its massive bulk suggested it should. It grabbed Hawkins and dug a claw into his stomach, ripping it open and throwing the body aside. 

“Jacob!” Jones yelled, then he struggled back to his feet and pulled an axe from inside his coat. 

“Jones wait!” Wesley got up and produced his sword, but too late. The other member of his team went in swinging. His axe connected with the creature to no effect, and in exchange he got a punch that went right through his chest, ripping out his heart. _Dammit...dammit!_ Though he had his doubts of it having any effect, he didn't have any other options. He made a mental note to have Emil get him some kind of anti-tank weapon, after this thing killed him and then did whatever it came here to do. If there was still a world at that point. It came at him, he swung his sword, and it punched him, sending him flying back. He got up and it came at him again. This time it got him. It knocked his sword from his hands and him to the ground. It grabbed his foot and held him up by it. With a swing from its claw, his stomach was ripped open as well. As his life faded from him – again – he saw four familiar figures running out into the open-air club. Angel, Gunn, Lorne, Fred. Lorne said something but he didn't catch it as it threw him to the side, Wesley actually dying in midair.

He came back to himself, feeling his Quickening already at work on his wounds to see his former friends already in combat, and doing no better than he and his team had done. It was approaching Lorne as he hurriedly tried to reload his crossbow. Angel and Gunn were both sprawled on the ground, and Fred was reloading as well. Before it could get to Lorne, Wesley struggled to his feet and, with one hand on his still healing wound, pulled a pistol from his coat and fired at it. He knew it wouldn't do more than sting the creature at best, but it might just...He fired. That did manage to distract it, and everyone turned towards him. He saw the looks of shock on the faces of his former friends. The beast didn't have any expression, but it did speak, in fluent, if gravely English.  “Interesting. I killed you.”

“Not the first time that's happened to me.” Wesley said through gritted teeth. He pulled another gun and fired them both at the creature. He emptied the clips on both, but still, no visible effect beyond perhaps annoying it. He smiled a toothy grin, actually chuckling.

“Might wanna hold back the gloat chuckles.” Angel said, pulling a crossbow bolt from his shoulder. “We're just getting started.” As Wesley looked for and found his sword – still intact, thankfully – he and the others watched Angel engage it in a fist fight – and actually seemed to be having almost the upper hand. He pressed his stake almost to its eye...when it wrenched his hand around and jammed the object into his neck. 

“Do you really think she's safe...with him?” It said, and tossed Angel over the edge of the building. 

“No!” Gunn yelled. The creature didn't say anything, but stalked over a square of bodies it had made and slammed its fist down, creating an 'X' of fire that consumed the entire square and made a column that surrounded it. The fire shot into the sky, and it went into the sky with it.

Everyone stared at where the demon had been, and the column of fire shooting into the sky until Gunn turned to Wesley.“How the hell did you do that?!” Gunn demanded, “You were dead! Is that part of some deal you made with Wolfram and Hart, you with them?!”

“Charles!” Fred snapped at him. “We need to find Angel. We have other problems than Wesley at the moment.”

“I'll say.” Lorne said, pointing up. Wesley and the others followed his gaze...and watched as fire began to rain from the sky....

“Oh dear.” Was all Wesley could actually get out.

**Author's Note:** In this fic, Lorne never calls Wesley for the memory spell in this one because they all know by then that Wesley and Lilah are seeing each other, and Lorne is a bit sore about that whole 'brain-suck' thing, which they now blame on him (never mind that Cordelia and Connor would have been captured anyway if he hadn't called, since getting them was better than nothing for Evil Incorporated. To replace him in 'the six', Angel suggests they call one of Cordelia's old friends in Sunnydale. So Either Xander, Buffy or Willow – it doesn't matter who, since it has no relevance to the story at large. Spin the Bottle then happens accordingly with the minor alteration in cast.


	10. I'm...Free?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it. End of story.

Thanks to my Beta, Oxnate.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 10: I'm...Free?

Fred and Lorne had managed to convince Gunn to hold off from laying into Wesley while they looked for Angel.  _ To no avail, I might add. _ He thought somewhat maliciously. Right now they were in the lobby of the Hyperion, both Fred and Lorne behind the desk as Gunn and Wesley had a staring contest with eachother. Wesley had his arms folded in front of him, and Gunn's hands were balled into fists. Right now they were several feet distant. 

“Are you just going to glare at me, or are you going to say something?” Wesley began.

“I don't need to say it. You're working for Wolfram and Hart.” Gunn said, not bothering to contain his anger. “You gave us that tip off about Connor and Cordelia just so your evil lawyer girlfriend could suck what Lorne read off of Cordelia out of his head.”

“And if I hadn't done that, Wolfram and Hart would have just settled for capturing Angel's hellspawn and Cordelia.”

“Don't call Connor that!” Fred interjected. “Don't talk about him as if he's some sort of demon.”

“He's the son of two vampires. He's not human, or at least not completely so.” Wesley said. “And I have every right to call him whatever I want, because I _died_ trying to save him.” He nodded. “Yes. You want to know how I just came back to life like that?” He turned to Fred. “ Rhinehardt's Compendium. Page,” He closed his eyes and thought for a moment, “157. The entry should be labeled 'Lightning Swordsmen'.”

Fred turned and removed the book in question from the shelf behind the desk and opened it to the aforementioned page. “Lightning Swordsmen: A class of rare demi-human creatures that though they appear human, are in fact immortal beings. From infancy they age until they experience a violent or otherwise unnatural death, at which point their aging process stops and they become immortal and invulnerable. Any injury done to them heals almost immediately, and it is from this healing that they get their name – there are always reports of blue lightning dancing across wounds, healing them. If they ever suffer mortal wounds, they will die, but then come back to life soon thereafter. There is only one known way to kill a Lightning Swordsman, and that is to cut off their head, which also releases a veritable storm of the blue lightning, presumably the force that animates them.” She looked up. “That's what you are?”

“Yes.” Wesley replied.

“Sounds like a pretty sweet gig to me.” Gunn said, “But that still doesn't explain you sleeping with evil lawyer-bitch, or prove you're not working for Wolfram and Hart.”

Wesley flicked his wrist and produced the collapsible sword. “There is a line, Gunn, and you're about to cross it. Insult me all you want, but don't call Lilah that in my presence again. I've no interest in killing you, but I have absolutely no qualms about crippling you for life.” He stepped back and retracted the sword. “And you can know that I'm not working for Wolfram and Hart by knowing this: no matter how far gone I am or will be, I've no interest in seeing the world end. And if you'll recall, the apocalypse is rather high on the Senior Partners' to-do list.”

“And how far gone are you then, Wesley?” Fred asked, sounding...concerned, a little sad, in her voice now. “What happened to you?”

“I died and all my friends abandoned me. And the only person who cared even the slightest bit, saw me as a person with any value whatsoever-” He was interrupted as the hotel doors opened and Angel walked in, looking like hell, or perhaps like a bus had run over him _in_ hell. Either way, Wesley had no interest in sticking around now that the vampire was back. “I'll be going now. I'll call you if I find anything about this creature.” He brushed past Angel as he headed to the door. Something was bothering Angel, he could tell – the man didn't ask about how he'd just up an came back to life. The loss had gotten to him, it seemed. Fred and the others would fill him in.

He fell asleep within minutes after returning home. Physically, he was as uninjured as he had been when he woke up this morning. One of the many benefits of immortality: never again would he have to worry again about lesser injuries incapacitating him for a time, leaving him on the sidelines of a fight. But emotionally and mentally, he was dead on arrival. Dying took a lot out of you, and he's also watched two members of his team – who he'd, rather foolishly, he considered, started to consider friends – die right in front of him at the hands of something he hadn't the first idea on how to kill.

He slept for longer than he usually did, the sun fully risen and the morning well underway by the time he stirred. He was up and ready to go as quickly as usual, however and about to set to work on finding out what he could about this enemy when there was a knock at the door. He opened it to see Lilah, looking like she'd slept in her clothes, and her hair wasn't as neat as usual. A lot of that going around, he suspected. She released sigh of relief when she saw him.

“Okay,” She smiled, not smirked. No...it was almost an anxious smile, a genuine expression of happiness. “I was just checking.”

“Yes, I'm alive.”

Lilah didn't say anything immediately and instead just stepped into the apartment and hugged him tightly, sighting again. “I left you a couple hundred messages last night. Don't feel obligated to return any of them.”

“And you're alright?” He asked, withdrawing from the hug a few moments later and closing the door behind her.

“I'm fine. Slept at Wolfram and Hart. FYI – safest place to be in case of apocalypse.” She leaned in to kiss him, but he turned his head away.

“Not right now Lilah.” He said. He wanted to, but there simply wasn't time. “My team just got butchered by this creature, and I've not the slightest idea on what it is or how to kill it. Nor, do I think, does Angel and company. Speaking of which, what do your employers think of all this.”

Lilah scowled. “The Senior Partners have had the  _ brilliant _ brain-wave to find this creature and recruit it. They have no idea what it is, but its powerful, and they think it can shave a few decades off their timetable, or something.”

“They're deluding themselves if they think they can control this creature.” Wesley said, “And I'm not stopping until I figure out a way to see it dead.” Which reminded him. He needed to place that order with Emil. Maybe it wouldn't work, but then again, otherwise unbeatable enemies had been killed by explosive devices in recent years, so the same should hold true for this thing.

“That hasn't stopped them before. You'd think they'd just decide to give up on turning Angel evil and kill him, at this point. I don't think they understand the meaning of the word 'no', sometimes.” She sighed. “I put Gavin on finding this thing. With luck, his incompetence will hold and he'll get absolutely nowhere.” She looked around the room, at all the shelves lining the walls. “If all you're going to be doing right now is researching, I'll help you until I have to go back into Wolfram and Hart.”

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“That's some mighty heavy ordinance you're looking for, Pryce.” The arms-dealer sitting across from him in the full warehouse told him. “You've come a long way from collapsible swords.”

Wesley steepled his fingers. “I'm not interested in small talk. Can you get it?”

“Can you afford it? Hardware of this type doesn't come cheap. You going up against tanks? Here in L.A?”

“If you're going to ask questions, can I expect a discount?” Wesley asked tersely. “Because if not, I believe a lack of questions is figured into your prices. You're expensive, but you get results. The faster I can get that, the better for me, and the better for you.”

“How is it better for me?”

“You'll be paid more the faster you get it.” He named a figure, “If you can get it to me within the next few days, you'll get all of that as a bonus. After that, I'll chop 10% off that number for each day. Once the bonus is gone, well, I still have to pay full price for the product, just not delivery speed.”

Emil was not a very emotionally expressive man. But he didn't need to be for Wesley to know that Emil was on, hook line and sinker for the bonus. Emil would get him what he needed. Now they just needed to keep the beast from destroying Los Angeles or the world until the anti-tank weaponry he'd ordered arrived. “You're a man who knows what he wants. I respect that. I'll call you when I get it. Just make sure you have the money when it does.”

Wesley's phone began to ring and he looked down at the number. His contact at Wolfram and Hart. He looked back at Emil. “Are we done here?”

“For now.” 

Wesley nodded and opened the phone as he headed out. “Pryce here.”

There was the sound of screaming, and people running, some kind of alarm in the background. “There's some giant rock-skinned demon in the building. Its been plowing its way through the building, floor by floor, killing everyone.” His contact, a phase-shifting demon said, with a terrified tone. “And at the moment, the building is wide open for taking anything you want from the vaults. The Senior Partners have ditched the entire branch.” The demon paused, then said, “Look, I'm jumping ship from this dimension right now. Got a portal set and everything, so, well, see you never.” The phone hung up.

Looting Wolfram and Hart's vault was not the first thought that came to Wesley's mind.

_Lilah._

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Lilah woke up with a scream she only managed to stifle at the last moment. Then she realized where she was, and what had happened.  _ I'm dead...I died...that...that thing...it came in...I...I...killed me...I'm dead...why the hell am I breathing? This isn't one of the hell dimensions Wolfram and Hart Employees go to...Standard Perpetuity Clause? Already? _ She saw movement, then Wesley crouching next to her. 

“I was hoping to arrive before you woke up, but this will have to do.” Wesley's presence next to her bothered her to a degree it never had...there was a pain in the back of her head, like a storm was going on there, in between her ears...it passed after a moment. Lilah struggled to get up off the ground. Wesley reached down a hand and she grabbed it. He stood up along with her.

“Okay, what is happening Wes? What are you doing here? How did you get in? I...I just I fucking died! And why did I-” Lilah was ever unflappable, but nobody took coming back from the dead well. Unless they were planning on it.

“The creature that created the rain of fire is attacking Wolfram and Hart,” Wesley, interrupted, as he began to answer in order, “I'm here for you because my contact here called and told me what was happening. I walked in the front door. And short version: You're not actually human, you are, like me, an Immortal. Or as you might know them more conventionally, a Lighting Swordsman. Or Swordswoman, in this case.” Wesley saw the look of recognition on her face. “We can talk more later, right now we need to do two things: Get to Wolfram and Hart's vault, and get out of here before this thing realizes that the way to kill us is to just rip our heads off.”

“I can't just steal from the vault!” Lilah was still freaking a bit, but not as badly as a few moments ago. “Its not as if they can't do whatever the hell they want to -”

“They can't do anything to you at all. Not contractually, anyway.” He said. “You don't work for Wolfram and Hart. You never have.” 

“What the hell are you talking about? I've worked for them for years.”

“Not technically.” He reached into his coat and produced the copy of her latest contract he'd managed to get his hands on. “Look carefully at the department that its filed with.”

“Human Resources? So? That's where all my contracts have been-” Then it dawned on her. “I'm not human.”

“And since you signed a contract for _humans_ to sign...”

“I'm free...” Lilah said slowly, as if she didn't believe it. And she didn't. But she knew how the contracts at Wolfram and Hart worked...she wasn't human...if Wesley was right, and given the fact that she _knew_ she had died, and yet she was here, and she could hear her own heart pounding...employees brought back to life under the Standard Perpetuity Clause...they didn't have beating hearts.

A series of rhythmic, heavy thumps began to resonate throughout the building, coming towards them.

“What the-”

“Its the fat lady singing.” Lilah said with an ironic chuckle. “Whenever the building's under attack, everything locks down.”

“When you say – 'locks down'?” His question was answered when steel shutters began to fall down over the windows. 

“All windows, doors, vents. Nobody gets in, nobody gets out.” Then she smirked. “Except for the escape route on the 3rd floor. Come on, let's hit the vault.” She headed for the door. Wesley grabbed her wrist. 

“Wait, the building just locked down. Don't we need to-”

“It was your idea to hit the vault.” She countered. “We can get out by the escape tunnel into the sewers anytime we like. And you- no, we” She corrected herself, “will never have a chance like this.”

“We?” Wesley let go of her wrist and they hurried towards the elevator. Fortunately, the creature seemed to have moved on to a different floor.

“Of course.” Lilah said. “At the very least, you still have more explaining to me how this whole 'Lighting Swordswoman' thing works. And we're still dating.” She added a bit playfully, then her tone got more serious. “Besides, I've wanted to get free of Wolfram and Hart for years. And now that I am, I'd love for the chance to stick it to them. What better way than taking all the items they have in their vault. Or at least as much as we can carry.” They'd reached the elevator by then, and we already on their way down the proper sublevel.

“Will the demon that guards it still be there?” Wesley asked when they reached the floor. The doors opened to reveal said demon's body, crushed to a pulp. “That answers that question. Lilah's keycard got them in the rest of the way. The complete security shut down from the attack made getting into the vault beyond easy, when all was said and done. Lilah immediately went to one of the drawers and pulled out a gaudy crystal amulet. She tossed it to him.

“Take this. Its something Angel, well no, more specifically its something his Slayer ex-girlfriend will need in a few months time.” Wesley caught it.

“Why? What is it?”

“Frankly, I'm not entirely sure. There's some kind of big player on the California Hellmouth, up to something, probably its own planned apocalypse. Summers will need that to defeat it. The Senior Partners planned to give it to her in time to stop it from throwing their own plans off-course, but at the last moment, to give whatever it is time to thin out her friends and allies.”

“What does it do?”

“I haven't the slightest. They never got around to telling me that, and then this,” she gestured widely with her hand, “happened.”

“Well then its hardly much use.”

“And that's what these are for.” She opened another one. Inside were several books. “Source Templates. Just say the title of the book and if its in Wolfram and Hart's archives, it becomes that book.” She took one and held it close to her, “Saitama Codex.” She opened it up and Wesley saw blank pages suddenly form into the book. She closed it.

“You can just conjure up a book like that?”

“Yea. And you can use it to call up the titles of all the books the archives have on a particular topic.” She pulled out several of the books. “Let's keep going.” Between the two of them, they grabbed several other artifacts – only ones one or the other of them could identify, apart from the unknown amulet – and hurried back up to the third floor. As they hurriedly searched the supply closet, throwing rolls of toilet paper to the floor haphazardly to find the-

“Found it.” Wesley said, pulling the catch. The thundering footsteps of the demon were getting closer. It had obviously realized there was something alive on this floor. The Ex-Watcher grabbed the new Immortal's hand and they jumped through. Landing flat on the ground.

Lilah got up first, and helped Wesley up. “Now what?”

“Now we're going to have to do something I'd rather not and work with Angel and his friends if we're going to have any hope of stopping this thing.” Wesley said. Lilah made a frustrated sound and rolled her head back, eyes closed, for a moment. “What?”

“I just remembered. Before the demon attacked, Connor broke into the building and demanded we help him figure out the connection he thinks he has to this thing. Then it attacked, and he went off to go fight it.”

“Dammit!” Wesley supplemented that curse with a half-dozen others in as many languages as they both started moving towards the nearest exit from the sewers. Then he sighed. “As much as I'd love to see that pathetic little child die, or at least suffer quite a bit, Angel will go insane with grief if he does die, and like it or not, the bastard is a Champion.”

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“-so much as a pothole.” Cordelia was saying as the two of them entered into the lobby of the Hyperion. Everyone looked at them as they opened. Gunn spoke first. 

“Great, more bad news.”

“What are you doing here Wesley? And why did you bring her here?” Angel demanded. 

“I know where the demon is.” Wesley said. “It's at Wolfram and Hart, killing everyone and everything that moves.”

“And yet Lilah here manages to get out-” Gunn said, “What, did you make a-”

“She got out because I went in and helped her escape.”

“Why would you do that?” Angel said, “I know you've been-” he changed topic suddenly, “And why here?”

“I saved her because I love her.” Everyone, Lilah included looked intently at him at those words. Wesley had said them intentionally, this time. And they were true too. “I brought her here,” he continued, “because here is probably the safest place in the city, at the moment, because she doesn't work for Wolfram and Hart anymore, and because you'll need all the help you can get to figure out how to fight this thing.”

“Especially since your hellspawn is in there.” Lilah added. “and now that the building's locked down, there's only one way in or out.”

Wesley raised an eyebrow. “So. Are we going to go rescue your son, or just stand around and talk about Lilah?”

**Author's Note:** For a Wesley/Lilah pairing to really work long term, either Wesley has to go from just being dark or edgy, to outright evil, or Lilah can't be a straight up black hat. I've always viewed her as someone who got sucked in and got changed by the place, so she became a sort of evil by default, though she was never a white-hat type of person. But no matter what, she'd want out of Wolfram and Hart. I never saw her as a nihilist/insane, so I don't think she really  _ wanted _ the end of the world, she just was kinda stuck where she was. Don't worry, Lilah isn't and never will be a white-hat, and for that matter Wesley's going to stay pretty gray himself.


	11. Chapter 11: Lights Out I

**Disclaimer:** Own it, I do not.

Thanks extended to Oxnate for being my Beta.

I don't know what happened to the font here, but I can't figure out what's wrong with it, or how to fix it, so, apologies.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 11: Lights Out I

“Did you mean what you said?” Lilah asked quietly, “Right before-”

“I did.” Wesley answered. “I never expected it...I don't think either of us did.” Lilah shook her head.

“No. I didn't expect for me to. But....I...the first true thing I've felt in a long time...” Her voice trailed off for a moment. She was...nervous, almost. Not quite, but close. Wesley actually found it a little endearing. “I love you.” Then she immediately changed the topic, uncomfortable with discussing it. Wesley sympathized. He'd never been an emotionally open person, and Lilah's stunting of her emotions ...well, Wolfram and Hart wasn't a conducive environment for emotion. “Where do we go from here? House, white picket fence and two and a half children?” She chuckled.

“Somehow I doubt that either of us would be content with that.” Wesley replied. The two of them were in one the empty rooms in the Hyperion, far from the other rooms in use. Angel had, reluctantly agreed to let them stay here, considering that they'd both helped him and the others rescue Connor and escape the horde of animated zombies when they went up to the White Room.

Lilah sat down on the bed, then laid back on it, stretching. “Probably not. The idea sounds nice, but I think my head would implode after a year of it, at most.” She sat back up. “So...what else is there to this whole 'Immortal' thing? Can't be all pluses.”

“There's no downside attached to being immortal this way than any other way – everyone else around you dies. Well, there's The Game.” He almost spat the word. The whole idea struck him as profoundly mad.

“I heard the capital letters. What is this Game?”

“Pointless violence in pursuit of a mythic and likely non-existent prize.” Wesley replied. “The thing – the lightning – that provides us with our Immortality is termed by Immortals as our Quickening. Its the name the Council always used as well, given that it worked well enough. Anyway, it contains all our accumulated power – the longer you live, the greater your Quickening will be just for that. But Quickening can be stolen – when an Immortal is killed, the Quickening is released. If another immortals is close enough.”

“They get the Quickening and all the power?”

“Essentially, yes. There are some Immortals that actively Headhunt, while others just try to live their lives, and others who's attitude to it is somewhere in-between. In theory, when there is just one Immortal left, he or she will get 'The Prize', whatever it is.”

“Have you taken any heads? This thunder feeling I get whenever I get near you for a few seconds. That some kind of Immortal radar?”

“One. I was going to purchase a boat for the whole 'dredging up Angel' thing. He found me and decided to challenge me. I shot him five times and then took his head.”

“Not much for sportsmanship are you? Aren't there any rules to this 'Game'?”

“Only one that matters. No taking of heads on holy or unholy ground.” Wesley replied. “Any ground that is consecrated or desecrated to a powerful degree. That's the only rule that actually matters, the rest are just issues of honor, tradition. According to how I understand it, the last time someone broke the 'no beheading on holy ground' rule, Vesuvius blew its top shortly thereafter. Its about releasing the Quickening on such ground that causes the problem. But a beheading on the premises of Wolfram and Hart would actually be just as bad – the ground is profoundly unholy, after all.”

“Anything else I should know?” Then it occurred to her, “How did you know I was- you had to have known ahead of time...you didn't tell me!”

“And what would I have said? Telling you before you actually died would've achieved approximately nothing. You might have gotten yourself killed prematurely. Life is life. As for how? Just like immortals can sense their fellows, we can also sense pre-immortals. It wasn't until I sensed the one I killed – and understood what I felt off of him that I realized when I was sensing from you.” He sighed. “I can't think of anything else – ah yes. Immortals are sterile. Can't have children.”

Lilah shrugged. “Doesn't really bother me. Wasn't planning on having a kid anyway. Didn't fancy handing my firstborn over. Now I know I don't need to bother paying for the pill.” She sighed and then rubbed at her forehead. “I need to rest. I need to...this is a lot to handle, and...dying...takes a lot out of you.” She laid back on the bed again.

Wesley nodded. “I'll be down in the lobby.” He grabbed the source templates they'd taken from Wolfram and Hart. “Hopefully these can help us shed some light on this...beast. Whatever it is.” Lilah nodded and he went out of the room. He stopped when he saw Angel just down the hall, coming towards them. The vampire stood there, standing in front of him.

“So...you and Lilah.” He said, slowly.

“You of all people are not in a position to criticize my relationships.” Wesley said, “And even if you were, we're not friends anymore.” He held up a hand, “I understand why you tried to smother me with the pillow. But I'm not ready to forgive you. Maybe someday I will. Hopefully we'll both live long enough for us to forgive eachother, for what we did. I should have told you, about the prophecy. Should've found another way.” He sighed. “I stole and lost your son, you tried to kill me.” He sighed.

“Maybe.” Then, “Immortal, then? How is it?”

“Less limited than being a vampire.” Wesley replied. He saw Angel almost respond to that visibly, and Wesley sighed again. “That was...unfair. It is...interesting, to go into a fight and know that unless your enemy knows your very specific weakness...that the odds of you dying... are slim. It induces a certain recklessness. I got my team killed, being reckless like that, on the roof. I didn't plan. Didn't think about the fact that my team wasn't...immortal like I was.” He raised an eyebrow. “You've met an Immortal, haven't you?”

Angel nodded. “Once. When I was Angelus. A really brutal piece of work named Kronos. Angelus and him fought, and well...he won. I wasn't worth killing.”

That name rang a bell. Rack up a body count like that... “Did he have a scar over his right eye?”

“You know him?”

“I know of him. One of the oldest and more brutal Immortals ever heard of. He's killed a few Slayers as well – that's how the Council knows about him. For the challenge, I presume. Back in the Bronze Age he and three other immortals cut a bloody swath through the Middle East and Europe. The Council assumes that they were origin of the 'Four Horsemen' of Christian Armageddon.” He shrugged. “Immortals – we're like people, I guess. Some good, some evil.” He continued on down to the lobby.

Fred was already deep into the research when he arrived, as was Gunn. “Anything?” He asked.

Fred shook her head. “Nothing. And this...'the answer is among you' thing is worthless too. I have I mentioned how much I _hate_ cryptic messages?”

“I'm telling you, its Connor. Its gotta be.” Gunn said.

“I'm surprised you're not trying to lay blame on myself, or Lilah.”

“The Beast did slaughter everyone and Wolfram and Hart and did kill you. For the moment you're out of the running for working with the big bad.” Gunn shot.

“I'm flattered.” Wesley set the source books down and then lifted one up. “Index all references to the 'Eye of Fire' and cross-reference with methods of creating a rain of fire.” He opened the book up and the previously blank pages suddenly formed words. He looked up at the slightly shocked faces of Gunn and Fred. “Source Templates. Lilah and I stole them from Wolfram and Hart before we came over here the first time. They can access any and all works from the Wolfram and Hart Archives. I want to see if we can determine exactly how it made the rain of fire. It might give us a hint on what we're dealing with. More than we have, anyway.”

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Two hours later, they'd barely scratched the surface of what the source books could call up, but they were still nowhere – on the whole package. Well, not entirely, actually. Wesley looked up from the book. “I have something. Not sure exactly how useful it is. I've found an entry about that little girl – or rather, what posed as a little girl - the Beast killed in the White Room. Whatever she was doing there may not be her only function.” He turned the book so the others could see. “Her name is Mesektet.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “Hmm...I would've figured Tiffany, or Brandi.”

“So what? Wolfram and Hart was just a day job for her?” Gunn asked.

“Something like that.” Wesley replied. “Mesektet was one of five enormously powerful beings which are themselves linked to an embodiment of the sun god Ra.”

“Which...would make them totems, right? Symbolic manifestations.” Fred looked at the book. “They're part of this Ra-tet. What does that mean, though. We don't know what they do or where they're from...”

“Which could mean he just killed Mesektet because she worked for Wolfram and Hart.” Wesley sighed.

“I'll hit the net. Charles, you want to update Angel?”

Gunn shook his head. “Mr. Do-Not-Disturb? Doubt it. Don't know why we're bothering with the Ra-ra’s anyway. 'The answer is among you.' Remember?” Gunn was prevented from continuing on in that grain when Lorne walked in.

“Bad news munchkins. Rumor mill has Dr. Feelbad attached to another slice and dice yesterday.” The empathic demon said.

Fred looked up from the computer. “Who was it?”

“Lovely woman. High and mighty white magic shaman type. That didn't even faze the Beast. Just tore her heart right out of her chest.”

_Strange_. Wesley thought. “The M.O. Doesn't match...Mesektet had some kind of energy sucked from her. The Beast didn't touch her heart...”

Fred looked at the book and paged through it for a moment then looked back up at Lorne. “You didn't happen to catch a name, did you Lorne? Like,” She looked back at the book, “Ma'at?”

“Yea, that's the lady. How did you-”

“Another member of the Ra-tet.”

Gunn seemed to be considering the possibility now. “So...he's taking them out, one by one? What for?”

Wesley looked back at the book. “I'm not sure. We should see if we can locate the rest of them. If he wants to kill them, it would behoove us to see to it – to the best of our ability, anyway – that at least one of them lives.”

The door opened again and Cordelia entered the lobby. “Hi guys.”

Lorne raised a hand and waved it a bit. “Oh, hey Cordy.”

“What's up Cordy?” Gunn added.

Cordelia didn't say anything in reply for a moment, then just said, “I gotta go see Angel.” She went up the stairs.

Gunn scoffed. “You see? I told you Connor can't be trusted. Look how weird he's made her.”

It took some more time, but they managed to finally to isolate some locations for the other three totems of the Ra-tet, or at least last known locations. Which was only really helpful for one of them, the skinless saber-tooth tiger, out in Death Valley. Another was in Belize, and the last moved around so much his location was useless to record. Lilah had arrived downstairs as well, and joined in the research, to no avail.

Soon after Lilah came down, Angel and Cordelia came back down, and the vampire seemed to have gotten out of his latest storm-of-brood, thanks to whatever the Seer had told him. Unfortunately, that meant he was also back in 'leader mode' commanding them as if they were subordinates. Which Fred, Gunn, Lorne and Cordelia were, admittedly, but Wesley and Lilah were not and never would be. Allies or associates, yes. Certainly they were right now. However, the two immortals had no choice but to put up with it for the moment. Angel started by filling them in on Cordelia's delightfully vague vision – possibly the most useless thing the Powers that Be had done for the Angel Investigations team...ever.

“The Powers are sending us a wake-up call, people.” The vampire began. “Sure, we’ve been— I don’t want to say “demolished”— beaten.” _No...demolished a perfectly good word for what happened to us, unfortunately. “_ And sure it’s slightly demoralizing,” Wesley kept his running mental commentary going. _Understatement of the month, at least._ “but from here on out, we’re on the offensive.” _Its as easy as saying that is it?_ We’re going to find out this thing’s weaknesses,” C _an you conjure up any, I wonder?_ “we’re going to go in prepared,” _How are we going to_ _ **get**_ _prepared, hm?_ “and we’re going to fight smart. It’s time to take down the Beast..” _Oh, to have your optimism._

Fred started talking as soon as Angel was done with his little pep-talk. “Um… we’re all behind you, Angel, 100%. But how can we be prepared when there’s nothing on this thing?”
    
    
    “And weaknesses?” Lorne added incredulously, “It’s not a sure bet El Destructo has any.”
    
    Angel shook his head, “Everyone has an Achilles Heel.” Wesley and Lilah both had to agree with that. Wolfram and Hart and the Watcher's Council both had, in their long histories, failed to encounter something truly invincible.
    
    “Assuming we can't figure out a way to stop it within the next few days, I should have something that would be at least worth a try. Anti-tank weaponry.” Wesley added. “Not to say we shouldn't try other things now, rather than let the body count continue to rise, but still, we have a powerful possibility waiting.” 
    
    “Your pistols and shotgun barely even annoyed it. What makes you think that's going to be any better? Guns never help.” Angel snapped.
    
    “Don't underestimate the power of modern weaponry, Angel. As I recall from Rupert Giles's reports, you stood witness to the defeat of a 'invincible' enemy at the hands of a rocket launcher as well. Well, Angelus did, anyway.” That actually made Angel pause for a moment, and then he'd had to fill Fred, Gunn, Lorne and Lilah in on the 'Judge' incident.
    
    “That aside, if this thing doesn't have an Achilles Hell we can find and exploit soon, we'll be cooling ours until English's heavy weapons show up. 'cause we got nothing without a new lead.” Gunn said, when the Vampire was done.
    
    “There is this Ra-tet thing...” Fred started, but was interrupted when the door opened and a woman with long brown hair, red leather pants and a black half-shirt complete with black gloves that covered her arms completely. Wesley had no idea who she was, but he saw recognition in Lilah's eyes, as well as those of Fred, Gunn, Angel and Cordelia. The Seer was actually glaring daggers at the new arrival. If looks could kill... _well, then most if not all of the human race would have killed itself off by this point_. He mused idly.
    
    “Gwen?” Angel said after a moment. Cordelia turned and transferred her glare to the ensouled vampire for a moment, then looked back at her previous target.
    
    “Hi there.” The woman – Gwen, apparently – said with a smirk. “Long time no hand to hand.” She looked at Gunn. “I remember you.” Her words made Fred step protectively in front of her boyfriend. _Its amazing how much that concept doesn't bother me now, even though it would've torn me in two a year ago._ He looked at Lilah a moment. Life was funny that way.
    
    “That guy you killed? Yea, that's him.” Fred said. _Everyone's dying, it seems. I thought death was a one-way street, and suddenly we have resurrection all over the place. I'll have to find out what happened._
    
    Gwen laughed a little. “Kicked you in the face too, didn't I, Cherry? Sorry about that. I really do try to avoid contact.” She gave Angel a sly look and a smirk. “Mostly.”
    
    Angel started to speak, “Cordelia, this is-”
    
    The Seer shook her head. “I know who she is.” She looked at Gwen again, “Caught your little show on the omniscient higher-plane channel, thanks.” _There's quite a bit I missed..._
    
    Gwen chucked, “So you're the girl who makes his heart go pitter-pat.” Pause, “Figuratively at least.” She looked back at Angel. “You must be so happy.” _Hopefully not anytime soon. Angelus is the last thing we need now._
    
    “I'm not having the best week, to be honest.” He was about to tell her to get to a point or leave when Gwen spoke again.
    
    “Tell me about it. I mean really, tell me. Freak to freak. Is the world about to end, or what?”
    
    “Something happen to you?” Angel stepped forward a pace.
    
    “Met with a client last night, in the oil fields.” She replied. “Which is odd because I've bagged for this guy for six years. Big money – and he's never wanted to meet before.”
    
    “Fascinating as these details must seem to you,” Cordelia snarked, “We're dealing with much more important stuff right now. Apocalypse. End of the world.”
    
    “Also, while we were talking,” Gwen went on as if Cordelia hadn't interjected, “He got his chest punched out a by a big demon made of rock.” That got everyone's attention, and even made Cordelia shut her mouth, instead of laying on more snark. “Demon okay?” She seemed incredulous at the idea. “Whole nine: cloven feet and horns and teeth...” She saw Lorne and did a double take. “He wasn't wearing lamé thought.”
    
    The empathic demon shook his head. “Yeah. The evil ones just can't pull it off. It gets camp, and then,” he waved a hand. “unpleasant all around.”
    
    “This client of yours.” Wesley asked, “was anything removed from the body?”
    
    “Didn't see.” She replied, and Lilah smirked. The woman turned back to Angel. “But you are hands-down,”
    
    “You're lying.” Lilah interrupted. 
    
    “What?” Gwen glared at her. 
    
    “I said you're lying. Something was removed from the body, and you did see it.”
    
    “Its pretty rich for a Wolfram and Hart Lawyer to be accusing someone else of lying, Lilah.” So they did know each other.
    

“I know your tell because I've seen you lie first hand before.” Lilah said.

Angel raised an eyebrow. “Well. Was something removed from the body?” In the background, Fred was thumbing through the pages of Rhinehardt's Compendium quickly.

“Something was.” Gwen replied, after a moment. “Kinda big – size of a book, maybe, made of metal. Didn't get a very clear look at it.” Lilah made no contest with her words there. “I didn't say anything because I thought it might be valuable, okay?”

“No surprise there,” Lilah said quietly to Wesley.

Fred stepped forward with the book in her hands. “Um...excuse me...not that I don't bear a grudge against you, because I do, but your client didn't happen to be a skinless saber-tooth tiger...or composed entirely of light maybe?”

“Yea...” Gwen replied. “The light...it came out of his chest. How did you know?”

“Three down.” Gunn said.

“He's taking them out. The Ra-tet.” Fred agreed.

“What's a Ra-tet?”

Wesley answered the thief’s question: “A mystical order. Each totem representing a stage in Ra’s journey across the sky.” He opened his source book and pointed to the characters in it. “Here's your client. Two others – these ones – are dead.”

“That means there's two totems left...” Cordelia, who had been look as well, noted. “Manjet and Semkhet.”

“The last sighting of Manjet was Belize, two years ago. Semkhet lives in a cave in Death Valley.” Fred supplied.

“Then its easy to know what we need to do.” Angel said. “All we have to do is find Semkhet and protect him.”

Lorne turned a page in Rhinehardt's Compendium. “Yeah, well won’t that be hoot. Looks like Semkhet is puddy-tat to the world’s scariest six-year-old.”

“It could be dangerous.” Cordelia interjected.

“I'll take Gwen.” Angel said quickly. Too quickly, actually. _There is something...off in the relationship between Angel and Cordelia..._ From Lilah's expression, he could tell she was thinking along similar lines.

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Gee. I feel all warm inside.”

Cordelia shook her head. “Shouldn't we all go? It might -” Angel didn't wait for her to finished, just grabbing his bag and leading Gwen back over to the door.

“We can handle it. Superpowers. I'll catch her up on the drive.”

“But its four hours!” Cordelia protested. “Both ways!”

Angel looked back over his shoulder, halfway out the door. “I'm sure we'll find something to talk about.”


	12. Lights Out II

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Angel or Highlander. If I owned Angel...well, Lilah wouldn't have died and the better part of Season 4 wouldn't have happened anyway.

Thanks to Oxnate for being the beta

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 12: Lights Out II

Gwen and Angel had only been gone for a few minutes before Wesley turned to the others. “Anyone want to fill me on who she was and what I missed?”

“Gwen Raiden is a thief.” Lilah said, after a moment. “Wolfram and Hart has arranged for various clients to make contact with her, in the past, when they need something stolen from high security. She has a power that frankly I don't understand. She can control electricity completely.”

“And if she touches you with bare skin, you're dead.” Gunn said. “I know that first hand.” He shrugged, “Then she zapped me back. One of those 'dead for a few moments' things.”

“Which would be why she wears the gloves.” Wesley mused, then turned to Cordelia. “And is that why you had this look of wanting to tear out the woman's skull and beat her death with it?” Then, “And for that matter, what happened between you and Angel that has you two on the outs with eachother? Time was he'd fall all over himself to bring you with him on a little mission like this.”

“Things change.” Cordelia said noncommittally, her voice uncharacteristically toneless. 

“Clearly.” Was Wesley's reply. He looked at the others, who seemed just as curious as he was about what had changed between the ensouled vampire and his seer. He shrugged. “It doesn't matter that much to me. Just don't let it get in the way of defeating this Beast. I could care less about your personal disputes in and of themselves.”

“You really mean that.” Cordelia said. It wasn't a question. “Is there anything of the old you left?”

“Which old me? The one in Sunnydale who had the emotional maturity of a blueberry scone?” He quoted Rupert Giles with a hint of viciousness in his tone. “He's dead and gone, thankfully. A person is a work in progress, Cordelia, always. I am who I am right now, the sum total of my experiences. I imagine that in five hundred years, assuming I don't loose my head by that point, I'll be at least a little bit different from who I am now.” He turned towards the stairs and headed up, leaving the lobby behind. Lilah followed suit moments later. She wasn't hanging around in the lobby with Team Angel. They didn't like her, and she didn't like them. They seemed to tolerate Wesley, but she doubted they would do the same for her.

She found Wesley sitting on their bed, thumbing through one of the Source Books. He looked up at her approach and closed the book.

“Quite the little speech you gave down there, Wes.” Lilah said, sitting down on the bed next to him. 

“Its the truth.” Wesley replied with a sigh. 

Lilah tucked a stray hair behind her ear and then, “So...why didn't you tell them that I'm immortal as well?”

“Its none of their business. I'd much prefer they didn't know that _I_ was an immortal either. They only know about me because I had to explain to them after they saw me come back to life.” He sighed again. “Frankly, I don't trust any of them. Not enough that I think they wouldn't try and kill you, if it comes down to it, if they jump to conclusions about you. And if they knew you were immortal, then they'd know they needed to cut your head off. If they don't know, then odds are whatever they try won't kill you.”

Lilah scoffed. “If you're that untrusting of them, why did you even come here? Why bring me here?”

“Because when it comes to this Beast, this place still is probably the safest place in the city. And because if the Beast is ever going to be defeated, its Team Angel that's going to figure out a way to do it. And since I don't fancy living in a destroyed world, helping them seems the most viable option.” He stood and went into one of his bags and pulled out a wrist-guard-like device. He tossed it to her and she caught it. 

“What's this?”

“Put it on.” Wesley said. Lilah raised an eyebrow but slid it over her wrist. Then she smirked in realization. 

“Another collapsible sword, like the one you have.”

“Exactly.” Wesley said. He flicked his wrist and produced his sword. “You'll never want to be without easy access to a sword. The immortal that challenged me last summer kept his inside a trench coat. This is a little less conspicuous and more easily accessible.” Lilah said something quietly that Wesley didn't catch. “What was that?”

“I...I don't know how to use a sword.” Lilah said, after a moment, a touch of embarrassment in her voice at admitting deficiency in any area.

“You have plenty of time to learn.” Wesley said. “And carrying a gun around as well would serve you well. Beheading the enemy while they're temporarily dead works just as well.” He indicated for Lilah to stand up. “We have several hours until Angel returns with or without Semkhet.”

Wesley spent the next hour and a half teaching Lilah the basics of swordplay. She was a quick study, but she still did have a long way to go. Then, as was usual for them after a fight, they ended up in bed together.

There wasn't any broken furniture this time, however.

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Both immortals were back down in the lobby when Angel and Gwen arrived. Instead of being accompanied by a skinless panther, they were accompanied by a short man who looked like he was dressed for a day on a tropical resort, complete with a Hawaiian shirt and brimmed hat.

“Any movement from the Beast while we were gone?” Angel asked within moments of entering.

“Not a peep.” Gun replied. “We've just been wasting our time trying to figure out how to kill the thing. Which, far as we can tell there aren't any.”

“Even Evil Incorporated doesn't have the slightest hint of any idea about this thing.” Lorne added.

“What it is, where it's from, what it can do. Still nothing on all three fronts.” Lilah remarked.

Fred raised an eyebrow at the third member of the new arrivals. “That doesn't look like Semkhet...” she said slowly.

“Semkhet's not available anymore sweetheart, on account of a slight case of being ripped open to death in a cave.” The new arrival took off his hat and placed it over his chest. “Don't supposed I could interest you in a short, stock orb keeper?” He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously at the physicist. Fred rolled her eyes a little and stepped back a little.

Angel chuckled a little awkwardly. “Guys, I'd like you to meet Manny. The last totem of the Ra-tet.”

Only an idiot would've missed the dubiousness in Wesley's tone, “This...is a being of supreme power?”

“You should see me in my Armani.” Manny replied dryly, putting his hat back on.

Lorne pointed at Manny and leaned a little forward. “What happened to the second to last one?”

Gwen stepped forward. “Somebody already ripped out the toy surprise.” Lorne's face fell a little and he looked at Cordelia a moment. _So its not just the death of the Ra-tet this Beast wants_. Wesley mused. _There's something each of them is carrying, or has inside themselves._ He made a mental note to look into that.

“The good news though,” Angel added, “Is that we've figured out the Beast's plan.”

“Which is?” Gunn inquired.

Manny supplied the answer there. “To blot out the sun for all eternity.” Then and without any visible appreciation of the comic value of his subject change, he asked, “You guys got a john?”

Angel was a little thrown off, but a moment later he pointed, “Right back there.” He headed down the indicated hall, then stepped back a few to grab a newspaper from the front desk counter before continuing on.

“Why did the small yucky man say that?” Cordelia demanded. “He's joking, right?”

“No, its true. Apparently there's a ritual using the members of the Ra-tet to change day into night,” he paused, as if for dramatic effect, “forever.” 

_Diabolical._ The ramifications were terrifying. “As far as evil plans go,” Wesley commented, sitting down. “It doesn't suck.”

“Its something Wolfram and Hart would never have considered.” Lilah remarked. “Too evil for them, I guess. This Beast is an over achiever, I'd say. Really likes to raise the bar.”

Angel nodded in agreement with the two of them.  _Gasp._ “He's killed four of the five so far. I figure if we keep Manny safe, the lights stay on, and eventually we can figure out a way to defeat this thing.”  _Let's hope so._

“But where are we going to keep him? It'll need to be a small, controlled space.” Fred started.

“Secure the perimeter.” Angel supplied. “Guards on duty at all times.” _Ah, and once again the famous Angel total lack of tactical sense strikes again._

“Kitchen's got a meat locker.” Gunn contributed.

“Brilliant plan.” Wesley interjected dryly. “Truly remarkable. Let's store the one thing that will stave off perpetual darkness in the home of the only people we're sure the Beast knows are actively trying to figure out a way to stop him. He knows that we're his enemy, so if he can't find the last totem of the Ra-tet anywhere else, it would seem highly likely that he would at least check her.”

Gunn stood up angrily. “I'm sick of your little side comments, English. If this plan is so bad, let's hear you come up with a better one.”

“I don't have to have a plan in place to know that this one is a guaranteed failure.” Wesley shot back. “And while I may not have a complete plan, it occurs to me that a good start might be to get the last totem _out_ of Los Angeles and thus he immediate reach of the Beast.”

“Or maybe out of this dimension.” Fred added softly. 

“Hell dimensions are not known for being conducive to the long term health of humans.” Angel noted. “And whatever else he is, Manny certainly would look like a human to most demons.”

“Hell dimensions aren't the only ones out there. I'm sure, given time, we can figure something out.” Wesley replied.

“But what are we going to do until then?” Lorne broke in, “Wesley has a point about not keeping him here.”

“I know a place.” Gwen told them out of nowhere. 

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “As long as its not some nondescript tenement downtown, with discarded boxes in the stairwells and peeling plaster and the faint odor of dead people.”

Gwen chuckled. “Pretty specific.”

“This place is safe?” Angel asked. 

“Very.” Gwen replied. 

“Alright then. Gwen and I will take Manny to this place of hers, and keep an eye on him. The rest of you look into portals to send Manny through, or weaknesses of this Beast or something we can do about it.” Then, “And see if we can figure out what it needs to do with the things that it's been taking out of the Ra-tet. If everything goes to hell, we'll need as many back-up plans as possible.” 

“I'm going with you.” Cordelia said firmly, standing.

“Cordelia-” Angel began with a negatory tone. 

“No, Angel.” Cordelia interrupted sternly. I'm coming with you and that's final.” 

Angel shrugged his shoulders in surrender. “Fine. Whatever you want to do.”  _I told the truth when I said I didn't care...but obviously whatever it is that's gone wrong between them is too large to not affect the larger picture, their ability to work together against the Beast. Lovely._

“I'll come with too.” Gunn said. “I'm not going to be too much help with the researchanyway, so I might as well be useful.”

“Alright.” Angel acquiesced much easier to Gunn's addition than Cordelia's. _Definitely a problem with Cordelia and Angel._ Wesley confirmed mentally.

Wesley raised the point with Lilah once the four had left with Manny. Fred and Lorne were over on one side of the lobby, he and Lilah on the other. Fred seemed interested in keeping a distance from him, whenever possible. Or perhaps from Lilah, or the both of them together, or something along those lines. Perhaps all of the above.

Lilah pondered his observations for a moment. “I think you're right.” She said quietly, so as not to be overheard by Fred or Lorne. “There is definitely something off between the Brooding Avenger and his precious Seer.” But then she shook her head. “Unfortunately, I can't imagine what it could be.”

“Great.” Wesley sighed. “Because I have a sneaking suspicion that whatever it is is going to cause us all major problems down the line.” 

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“...I'm just saying, it never would've happen on my watch.” Gwen said as she followed Cordelia and Angel into the lobby, Gunn right behind her.

“Gosh no!” Cordelia gushed, “Because you're super tramp!” 

Angel ignored the two of them and went over to the counter where Lorne and Fred were researching. Wesley and Lilah picked up the relevant books and notes they'd made on what they'd found. Very early the four of them had been decided that Fred and Lorne would look into portals, and Wesley and Lilah would work on the ritual and figuring out more on the Beast. They'd had no luck on the latter, but they'd struck gold on the former. Which was especially good news, since they'd just received word about what had happened to the last totem.

_And I can't even blame Angel...much_ . That annoyed Wesley a little. He had a lot of built up anger and hate for Angel. Most of it was somewhat unjustified, he knew. It was for more than just the smothering with a pillow incident though. Once he'd stopped being in Angel's employ he had had a chance to step back and take a good look at the last two and a half years since he'd come to L.A. Angel hadn't come back quite so good in the final analysis. Then again, neither had he, or anyone else. None of them were as good as they liked to think themselves to be. Not so bright and shiny. That discovery had been a major factor in the massive shift in his perception of the world.

“What's the latest?” Angel asked, interrupting his internal musings. Wesley turned a book towards Angel. 

“We looked into the ritual. It appears that he has to assemble a sort of ritual prop.” He pointed to the diagram in the book. “These three pieces were inside the totems. The Beast kills them, rips out the pieces and puts them together like this.”

“Instant light-switch for the sun.” Lilah noted.

“What about the other two? What did he take out of them?” Angel asked. 

“We saw him suck the energy out of Mesektet and he ripped the heart out of Ma'at. As near as I can figure,” Lilah continued, “he has to use the energy and the heart together with this prop here to blot out the sun. Exactly how that works is unclear.”

Gwen pointed at the diagram. “These wings. They're metal, right?” Wesley nodded. “Get me close enough and I can melt that. That should slow him down.”

“If we find him in time.” Cordelia said, playing the voice of pessimism for a change. “Need I remind everyone that he's already got all the pieces plus we don't even know where's he's going to perform the ritual? He could be performing it right now!”

“Sun or no sun.” Gunn came up to the group, “I'm not worried about slowing him down. I'm worried about taking him out.”

“We may have a solution for that.” Fred said, indicating herself and Lorne. “When you called to tell us Manny was dead, we decided to keep working on the portal angle – only to send the Beast through, rather than Manny.”

“We've tried everything else.” Lorne said. “Not a big fan of portals, but if that's what it'll take to stop Dr. Feelbad...”

“How long until that artillery piece you said was coming gets here, English?” Gunn asked.

“Not soon enough, I'm afraid.” Wesley replied, not bother to correct Gunn. It was close enough to artillery, when all was said and done. “Certainly not soon enough to prevent the sun from going out. We're not going to be outright destroying or killing the Beast anytime soon.”

“But if we stand against it long enough to find a way to corner it, maneuver it into position...” Angel started.

Lorne nodded, “Then maybe we can send this thing back to the hell-sweet-hell it came from.”

Gunn didn't look that happy with the entire idea. He stalked over to the weapons cabinet, Fred following him.

“Here's the spell for the portal. We're going to need your help Wesley.” Lorne said. “You've got the magical juju we'll need to force this thing through the portal.” The demon handed Wesley a piece of paper. “We need at least two people chanting, but the more we have, the easier and faster it should be.” Gunn and Fred came back over to them.

“Okay, so we've got everything we need to stop the ritual.” Angel said, getting back into command mode. “Let's clear out of here and try and locate the Beast.” Suddenly Cordelia gasped.

“Oh my god...” Her voice was filled with a rare horror.

“Another vision?” Angel asked. 

Cordelia shook her head. “Same one. Only there was more of it. A massacre....so many people on the ground...dead...dying...the screaming was so loud...”

“Could you hear the demon?”

She shook her head again. “No. But whoever it was talking to...” She looked the ensouled vampire in the eyes. “They felt familiar...like someone I know.”

Angel spoke only one word. “Connor.”

“I think it's time to bring him into this Angel.” Cordelia said. “If nothing else, he's our best chance at finding the Beast.”

Wesley immediately had a gut feeling. There was something in the way they were talking about Connor. Whatever was wrong between them, the child born of two vampires was somewhere at the heart of it.

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Their cars pulled up right in front of the abandoned building where Connor lived just as the young man came crashing out of a fifth-story window, landing in a bloody, battered heap right in front of Angel's car mere seconds before it stopped. They all got out of their cars immediately. Angel, under the meager protection of a blanket, rushed for Connor, but Gunn pushed him out of the sunlight and into some shadows. Cordelia rushed over to Connor, kneeling down next to him.

“Oh my god...Connor...” She said slowly, terror in her voice. 

“What happened?!” Angel demanded.

“The Beast...it's upstairs.” He managed to gasp out.

_It came out of the same spot Connor was born. Perhaps it does have a connection to Connor._ Wesley thought. “Maybe it needs to do the ritual-”

Unsurprisingly, given how much Gunn had been harping on Connor's involvement recently, he finished the ex-Watcher's thought. “In the place where Connor lives.”

Angel wasn't interested in such theorizing. “We'll figure that out later. Everybody gear up. Wes, you got everything you need?”

He nodded. “Ready.” Gunn grabbed weapons and tossed some to Angel.

Angel snapped out orders – and sensible sounding ones, for a refreshing change. “Gwen, go for the orb, the wings, whatever you can get, your hands on. We can’t let him finish the spell. Gunn, you and I will keep the Beast busy long enough for Fred, Lilah and Wesley to work the portal mojo. Cordy… “ He looked at her kneeling next to Connor for a moment, his son's face covered in his own blood. “...keep him safe.”

“Dad...” Connor started weakly. 

“It's okay Connor.” Angel told his son softly. “I'm here now.” He turned to the rest of them. “Let's go.” They rushed up the stairs and into the room where the Beast was, but too late. The Beast was kneeling down in the center of a runic circle, the ritual prop there with him – the orb had already gone solid black, which was not a good sign. It was chanting.

“Oh god. Its already started.” Fred said what everyone was thinking. The Beast rose when they entered, and Gunn and Angel immediately went on the attack as Gwen worked her way around the side of the room, trying to get at the prop. Lilah, Fred and Wesley stood off to the side, beginning their chant.

With a grunt, Gunn was thrown back, sprawling on the floor, but he was back on his feet in moments, charging in with Angel at the Beast again. Gwen, her eyes on the fight, saw the Beast devote all his attention to the fight - just for a moment – all she needed – she dove for the prop just as the Beast grabbed Angel and threw the vampire to the side like he was nothing. It turned to deal with Gunn and caught Gwen in the corner of its eye. Growling ever so slightly, it grabbed a wooden crate and threw it at the electromagnetic thief, catching her on the head and knocking her dazed to the ground. She fell onto the prop and it came apart into its three pieces, but the orb began to roll across the floor – right towards the Beast.

“The Orb! Don't let it-” Too late. The orb came to rest at the demon's feet and it smiled predatorialy at Angel, who watched in horror as it picked up the orb. It went back to the ritual circle and set the prop up again, continuing the chant from where it left off. It stood. Lilah, Fred and Wesley began to reach the end to the chant, and the air behind the Beast began to shimmer. 

“Angel!” Wesley alerted the vampire.

“Yeah, I got it. Everybody get ready.” Outside the room, it began to get darker, ever so slowly, even thought it was still the middle of the day...

“Now or never.” Angel said. He raised his sword and charged at it again, Gunn and Gwen right behind him. Between the three of them, though they don't manage to harm the Beast, they slowly start to push him back, towards the portal. Angel caught it on the chest with a leaping kick and it staggered back into the portal, vanishing through the magical gateway, and out of this dimension.

Gwen smiled, “We did it. We won.” She looked around at all of them. “Didn't we?”

They all stepped towards the window, looking outside where the sun continued to dim.

“If we won...” Lilah began slowly. 

“Then why is it still getting dark?” Fred finished just as slowly. 

There was a slow, low chuckle behind them and they all spun to see the Beast standing there, none the worse for the wear after its trip through the portal into a rather unpleasant Hell Dimension. “I told you once.” It said, looking directly at Angel. They began to back away from it instinctively. It was strong enough to just rip his head off – even Wesley felt fear. “You need not be my enemy. Join with me...” It paused for a moment, then finished. “Angelus.”

It all began to click in his mind. Lilah met his gaze, thinking the same thing, and then...they all watched in horror as the Beast picked up the orb and swallowed it whole, as the sun went out entirely.

When they came back out of the building, Cordelia rushed over to them. “Angel, we have to talk.”

“I can't believe we lost the sun....” Fred said dejectedly. No...she was beyond dejection. She was...almost sleepwalking. The shock...she was stunned...they all were. This was worse than any other defeat they'd ever had. Lilah and Wesley hung in the back of the group, unconsciously holding hands.

“Angel...I think I figured it out.” Cordelia began.

“So have I. The Beast knows me.”

“No.” Cordelia shook her head. “It knows Angelus.” Angel looked around at all them uncomfortably as the name of his evil alter-ego was brought up. “Am I right? While you were upstairs, it came to me. I wasn't having a vision of the demon. I was having a memory of it.”

“How's that again?” Gwen cut in sharply.

Cordelia ignored her. “I told you, when I was a higher being, I’d experienced everything you’d ever done as Angelus. But since I’ve been back, my memory’s been fading until the Powers decided to… jog it, I guess. Angel, I saw you, long ago, standing in a field of bodies with the Beast.”

Once again, Connor was immediately in 'My father is completely evil mode', “You knew this thing and you didn't tell us!?”

“No!” Angel insisted. “I could never come up against something like that and not remember!”

“The answer is among you.” Gunn quoted what seemed to have become his favorite phrase in the world. “That's what the little girl mean, isn't it? This was never about Connor. It's about...”

“Angelus.” Fred finished quietly.

“I'm telling you!” Angel even raised his voice a little. “I don't know this Beast. I'd remember!”

“Like you remember falling asleep before Manny got killed?” Cordelia demanded accusingly. 

“An inside job...” Gwen breathed.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Angel glared at the thief. 

Wesley released Lilah's hand. He had it. Well...he hoped he did, anyway. If he was wrong... “It means you’re a suspect. Assuming Cordelia’s right, we have to accept the possibility that this Beast may have some sort of power over you. To make you do things. To make you forget.” He wasn't entirely sure if that was true, but he felt absolute conviction that the answer was Angelus. He was right. The Scourge of Europe knew something...somehow, Angelus was the key to this whole series of events.

Cordelia laid it on as well. “And it has a plan. The rain of fire, taking down Wolfram & Hart, even blotting out the sun… I think now those were only the first steps to something bigger.”

Angel shook his head, “Well, I don’t know what to tell any of you because I don’t know what the plan is!”

The immortal stepped forward, towards the ensouled vampire and his seer. “No… but Angelus might. I think there might be only one way that we’re going to stop this Beast.” He took a breath. This was something he'd never in his life expected to say. He'd said what he was about to say, minus just two letters, many, many times in his life. And he suspected he would say that again. But this...never before. And, he hoped to every deity out there, he'd never have to say again. “We need Angelus.”

You could've heard a pin drop.


	13. Angelus - the Great and Terrible

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Angel the Series or Highlander the Series

Thanks to my Beta, Oxnate

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 13: Angelus – the Great and Terrible

Everyone else had left in Angel's car, heading back towards the Hotel. The sun was gone. The Beast had scored a victory – possibly one of the largest victories Team Evil had scored in a long time. With the sun gone, the city of Los Angeles had become a devil's playground. Already the city's vampire and demon population was starting to come out of their nests, dens and assorted hiding places hours earlier than planned, ready to party like there was no tomorrow.

And for all too much of Los Angeles's population, there wouldn't be.

Only Wesley and Lilah were not on their way back to the Hyperion. It had been a testament to just how shocked and beaten-down the rest of them had been that they hadn't mustered an army of objections and accusations to meet his statement about them needing Angelus. They'd just gotten into the car and left.

“So how exactly do you propose to get Angelus here, then?” Lilah said. They were still outside the building where Connor had made his home, standing next to Wesley's car. “Call up Buffy Summers and have her sleep with him again?”

Wesley chuckled. “I don't think it would be quite that easy. I highly doubt Miss Summers would agree to let Angelus out to play again for any reason, and besides, I've no interest in encouraging sexual relations between vampires and Slayers. She's done quite enough damage on that front as it is.”

“So then what do you intend to do to bring Angelus out to play, as you phrase it?”

“I've heard about an organization, here in Los Angeles that specializes in the extraction of souls. The Order of the Kun-Sun-Dai.”

“Dark mystics?” Lilah replied dubiously. “You'd trust them with Angel's soul?”

“Trust might be too strong of a word, but it does seem the best available option.”

Lilah considered his words, then nodded. “Might be.” Then, “Something occurred to me, while Cordelia and Angel were arguing about our great heroic champion and his connection to the Beast. It went through the portal. It was gone from this dimension, even if only for a moment.”

“Yes. It was there, then it was through the portal, then it was behind us. What does that-?”

“If it went through the portal, and yet still ended up back here, then clearly it has to have the ability to open portals on its own.”

“Makes sense.”

“Which would explain why we can't find anything on the Beast in any of the books we've checked.” Lilah continued. 

“How so?” Wesley wasn't following her logic.

“If it can open portals on its own, then it might not be native to this dimension. In fact, this may be the first time its come to our dimension. Its never been around for anyone to document. At least not anyone in this dimension to document.”

Wesley grasped her point, “But texts from other dimensions might have something on the Beast.”

“Exactly. I know a few people, I think I can call in some favors to get my hands on some trans-dimensional texts.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, these people won't talk to me if you're there. I'd have to go alone.”

Wesley breathed in sharply, “Are you sure about this, then?”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Wes...I really do. But I _can_ take care of myself.”

Wesley nodded. “Keep your head on.” He said softly. “I...I don't think I could take losing you too...after...” He gestured with his hand, not just to encompass the city going to hell around them, but also as if to encompass the entire direction his life had taken, in the last six months.

Lilah leaned in to give him a quick kiss, but Wesley pulled her in when she tried to pull back, deepening the kiss. Finally, they drew apart. “I promise.” She looked around, mentally orienting herself , then headed off. Wesley watched her go for a moment then got into his car and drove off.

It didn't take him that long to get to the local temple of Order of the Kun-Sun-Dai. The Order was based in China, but there were practitioners of its art here as well. As he stepped onto the desecrated ground, he felt an all-too familiar tingling. There was another immortal nearby. Fortunately, they were on Holy Ground. Well, Unholy Ground, anyway. As he entered the building, two shirtless men with tattoos marking their allegiance to the Kun-Sun-Dai – as he understood it, a group of powerful spirits – on their foreheads, stepped into his path, blocking him from proceeding.

“Who are you, and what brings you here?” One of them demanded in accented English. 

“I am here to see Wo Pang.”

“The Master is busy in ritual.”

“I do not have time to wait.” Wesley replied. “Step aside or I shall make you.” He contemplated using his sword – neither of these were the immortal he'd sensed, but he doubted that he would engender Wo Pang's aid by killing his guards. He'd have to settle for knocking them out. With the advanced speed and reflexes he'd picked up from Alfonso's Quickening, plus his own skills.

It wasn't even remotely an even match. Within moments, he'd decked both of them. He stepped through one door into a passageway to the central shrine, and was nearly sent sprawling by a punch to his shoulder. He and the third guard fought their way down the corridor, the guard getting several good hits in on him, though he gave ground under Wesley's attacks. Fortunately for Wesley, his Quickening could deal with the damage from the fist fight within seconds. Finally with a brutal punch to the man's chest, he went flying through the beaded curtain that served as the barrier between the passageway and the shrine room. Wesley stepped through and saw who he presumed to be Wo Pang who was, as stated, engaged in performing some ritual or another, complete with the red robes and hood of his order. Only his hands and eyes were visible.

The floor was painted with several Chinese characters, and numerous talismans were laid out. But that was not what really drew his attention. As he entered the room, he realized that the immortal he'd senses was Wo Pang.  _ Interesting. It really isn't that surprising though. Lilah and I could hardly be the only immortals that are part of the supernatural world.  _ From the strength of the man's Quickening, he was either rather old, or had killed a significant number of aged immortals in his time. 

“This is Unholy Ground.” Wo Pang said slowly. “You cannot take my head here.”

“I didn't even know you were an Immortal until I arrived here at the temple.” Wesley said. “I came here because rumor has it that you have certain skills I require.”

“And what skills would those be?”

“I need a soul extracted.”

“You have strange needs.” Wo Pang said, standing up. “Very well. Bring the person whose soul you need extracted here, and I shall perform the necessary rituals.”

“I'm afraid its not that simple.” Wesley replied. “The person whose soul must be extracted it...a special circumstance. You may know of him. He goes by the name Angel.”

“You seek to restore Angelus.” Wo Pang said. 

“Only for a short time. You know of him then?”

“Yes.” The dark mystic replied. “It is hard to live in this city and not know of the impossible vampire. The vampire with a soul.”

“Then you understand why I cannot simply bring him here? Once his soul is removed, he will be...volatile, to say the least.”

“How do I know this is not a trick to get me off of the sanctuary of Unholy Ground?” He demanded. “I have remained here for decades in safety.”

“Because, as I said, I did not know you were immortal until I arrived here. Have you looked out onto the city recently? It has gone to hell, and the world may well follow suit. Angelus may have knowledge of the only way to prevent that from happening. There is no point to immortality if there is no world to live in.”

Wo Pang cocked his head, considering his words. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. I will not be going unarmed, however.”

“I wouldn't have expected you to.” 

“There is, however, the issue of payment.”

Wesley reached into his pocket and pulled out a talisman, tossing it to the man. “That should balance it, I believe.”

The dark mystic examined the object for a moment, then nodded. “It will.”

Wesley stepped aside, indicating with his hand. “Shall we?”

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

When the two of them arrived at the Hyperion, they were arriving in the middle of some kind of ongoing conversation between the others. As they entered the lobby, Wesley caught what Fred was saying. “Well, I'm not one to turn down a little pep but I'd much prefer we had a plan.”

“Here's one.” Wesley said, drawing attention to the fact that he was there. Everyone turned towards him as Wesley pointed to Wo Pang. “Him.”

No one said anything for a moment, then Angel asked: “And who might he be then?”

“His name is Wo Pang. He can deliver Angelus to us.”

Gunn turned towards Cordelia, confused. “Thought you said-”

Cordelia seemed just as confused. “Me too...”

“Fred, would you mind brewing some tea for our guest?” Angel chose that moment to motion towards his office, and Wesley headed over there.

“Sure...” The physicist replied, and Wo Pang followed her to the kitchen.

Angel closed the door behind him once they were both inside. The ensouled vampire stared at Wesley intently. “What do you mean by 'deliver Angelus'?”

“Wo Pang is a shaman – from the order of the Kun-Sun-Dai.” Wesley replied. 

Angel recognized the name – he  _ was _ over two centuries old. “Dark Mystics? You brought a dark mystic here without talking to me first?!” 

Wesley was unfazed by Angel's anger. “I may be working alongside you right now Angel, but I'm  _ not _ you're employee, or a member of your team. At the moment we are allies, that is all. Once the end of the world has been prevented and the Beast defeated we can go our separate ways. But for that to happen, we need Angelus. It's the only lead we have. Wo Pang can restore souls as easily as remove them. Once we learn what it is Angelus knows about the Beast-”

Angel interrupted him. “We're not bringing Angelus.”

“You don't have a choice.”

“Actually, I do. That was it. You want to hear it again? Not with the bringing.”

“Don't make this any harder than it has to be Angel.” Wesley said tersely. “There's no plan B and we're running out of time. People are in serious danger. Los Angeles is going to hell in a hand-basket, and if we don't do something soon the world will follow suit.”

Angel shook his head, “Then unleashing Angelus is the  _ last _ thing we should do!” He insisted. “If he's here, I'm not. I won't be able to protect anyone from the Beast. Or from me.”

Wesley scoffed. “You are amazingly full of yourself. Probably one of the few character traits you and Angelus have in common. First of all, your track record at protecting people from The Beast speaks for itself. At last count, you saved approximately no one from the Beast. I've at least saved one person from the Beast – Lilah. So by that metric, I'm the champion.”  _ Okay...so actually that's total bullshit, I didn't save Lilah, she did die...but I'm going to use that argument anyway. _

“Furthermore,” he continued “its not as if everyone in this hotel apart from you is a complete incompetent unable to defend themselves. Angelus may have been a terror across Europe for more than a century, but the fact remains that Buffy Summers could have killed you a number of times before she actually did – she kept letting you go because she wanted her boyfriend back so she could keep on being a necrophiliac rather than perform her duty and actually slay vampires. Besides which, Angelus is an idiot.” Angel started to say something in response but Wesley didn't let him. “Oh, he has a base cunning, he's clever, but his insistence on playing with -”

This time Angel managed to interrupt him. “You have  **no idea** what Angelus is Wesley! All you know is what you've read in your damn books! You've never had the pleasure of his company and you're not going to. Get. Rid. Of. The. Shaman.” He spoke the last five words with slow emphasis then stalked out of the hotel, slamming the door as he went. Wesley went out into the lobby in time to see Cordelia follow Angel out.

Gunn raised an eyebrow. “I take it Angel-”

“Is less than thrilled with my plan to remove his soul and bring his 'evil twin', as it were, out to play?” Gunn nodded. “Yes. He wasn't interested in the idea.”

They all stood awkwardly for a few minutes, with Fred and Wo Pang returning to the lobby , the mystic drinking a cup of tea as they waited. Finally, Angel strode into the lobby, an angry but determined look on his face. “We're going to need a cage.”  _ What did Cordelia say? I thought they were on the outs. _ Not that it mattered. Whatever she had said had managed to get the ensouled vampire to agree to what needed to needed to be done.

“A cage?!”

Angel didn't respond directly to Lorne's outburst. “A strong one. About ten by twelve, steel reinforced, two inch bars. Maybe three. I'll make some calls.” He didn't wait for any responses, just going into his office and closing the door behind him.

“What?” Gunn demanded, “He thinks something like that's going to hold the Beast?”

_ You idiot. _ “Its not for the Beast.” Wesley explained patiently. “Its for him.”

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

Putting the cage together took several hours – getting the materials to the hotel in the midst of a city gone to hell was hard enough, then they had to put the pieces together and make sure the whole thing was secure. As they worked, Lorne was putting thick straps on a table inside the cage – to bind Angelus down long enough for Wo Pang to leave the cage once the soul was gone. Putting the cage together wasn't so much complicated or difficult as just a lot of effort. Finally though, they were done. Angel tested the cage and the door, pulling at it with all his strength. It didn't break off.

“Alright.” He told Gunn. “Tell the shaman we're ready.” Gunn nodded and headed upstairs. Wesley just watched as Lorne begged out of being in the same room as the magic – using a reasonable argument – and the father-son 'bonding moment' between Connor and Angel was both laughable and mildly sickening in its own way. Connor was not in the least bit interested in Angel's paternal feelings towards his son. He may have gotten past making attempts on his father's life, but Wesley doubted Connor was past wanting to bury a stake in his father's heart.

When Wo Pang returned, Angel laid down on the table, and Wesley and Gunn strapped him down, pulling tightly at the straps on his arms and legs. The immortal ex-Watcher kept half an eye on the proceedings with Wo Pang, as he set a glass orb on a small table outside the cage.

“What's that?” Cordelia asked. 

“It is the muo-ping. The receptacle that will house his soul once it is extracted.”

“Cordy?” Angel started, “I don't want you here.” _After nearly seven years of knowing the woman, and nearly four of her working for you,_ Wesley wondered, _how have you not figured out that Cordelia doesn't take orders?_

“Yeah?” Cordelia asked dryly, “Well tough.” Connor was watching from the top of the stairs, and once Gunn and Wesley were out of the cage, Wo Pang entered and closed the door behind him. “You will want to add a second lock.” 

Wesley nodded, “Do it.” Gunn grabbed a padlock and put it on the door.

Wo Pang began to chant in Chinese. They saw no visible effect for several minutes, then suddenly a white, wispy smoke curled out of Angel and into the muo-ping. Once it was full, Wo Pang stepped back.”Illusion becomes reality.” The Asian immortal said, looking at Wesley. “It is done.” He opened the cage and stepped out of the cage, closing and re-locking the door behind him. “I will return when you are ready for me to return the soul to the vampire.” Wesley nodded and the mystic went up the stairs. Angel's eyes opened and he turned his head to look at Cordelia, a thin, sly smile on his face.

“Angelus...” Cordelia breathed. Suddenly the vampire began to chuckle. It soon became a full-blown malicious laugh. The laugh chilled Wesley to the bone, reminding him that there was evil...and then there was Angelus. For a vampire only into his middle-age, at best, Angelus had a terrifying reputation. That laugh told him all he'd ever wanted to know – and more – about how Angelus had earned that reputation.

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It was an hour later when Wesley returned to the basement. Angel's soul was securely hidden in the wall-safe inside the vampire's office, and the other members of 'Team Angel' were upstairs, preparing to watch the proceedings through the monitor in the corner of the room.

“If you go into the woods tonight...” Angelus was singing softly. He seemed to carry a tune a little bit better than his ensouled counterpart, but Wesley felt the chill again. It was amazing – and sickening - how the vampire could turn a children's song into something so utterly disturbing – although the song was always a little off, in of itself. “You won't believe your eyes. If you go into the woods tonight, you're in for a big surprise...” He stopped as Wesley stood in front of his cage.

“Angelus.” He said slowly. Part of him did want to savor the moment. This was, he had to admit, a rare thing for a Watcher, to be able to see Angelus, the famed vampire of legend. Still, that didn't show on his face. A fact that Angelus picked up on.

“Wes!” He said, as if greeting a long-lost friend. “Why the long face? Aren't you happy to see me?”

“Should I be?” 

“Well,” the vampire replied. “If it wasn't for you and your shaman friend, I wouldn't be here. I'm kinda feeling the love.”

“The choice was Angel's.” Though, he had to admit, he had been pondering knocking the vampire – and everyone else, if necessary – out and having Wo Pang perform the ritual even if Angel hadn't been willing. This was the answer.

“Angel-schmangel. You're the man with the brain. It was your idea. Or maybe it was Lilah's. We all know how much her bosses have been wanting to let me out to play.” Wesley tensed at the mention of Lilah. The last thing he wanted was for her to be on Angelus' mind. So instead of defending her – that she wasn't working for Wolfram and Hart, that she didn't have any reason to pursue their plan 

So he redirected. “Comfortable?” He asked.

Angelus shrugged. “Nice acoustics. Wouldn't hate a chair.” Wesley contemplated going to get a chair and sitting down in it, just to spite the vampire, but it seemed pointless childish, and would get him nowhere.

“You'll have to forgive the accommodations.” He encompassed the cage with a gesture. “The last time you were free, you terrorized Sunnydale.”

Angelus breathed in deep, a smirk playing across his face as he spoke. “That Slayer...she's a pistol.”

Wesley stepped to the side, still facing Angelus. “I've imagined this moment many times. Years of study and research. I've read everything ever written about you.”

“Stop, I'm blushing.” Angel spoke, faux-modestly. 

“To be one on one with the legendary Angelus.” Wesley paused, cocking his head. “To be honest, it's something of a let down. You're nowhere near as impressive as I expected, in person.”

“Insulting me? Trying to get me angry so I'll make a mistake? Blurt out something?” The vampire shook his head. “Not the most innovative interrogation technique, but...” He shrugged. “Okay, I'll play?”

“Is it a game then?”

Angelus spread his hands magnanimously, “Hey, open book here. Anything you want to know. How sweet that virgin gypsy tasted, the special smell of a newborn's neck. My first nun-” He inhaled deeply. “now  _ there's  _ a great story.”

Wesley shrugged. “We could start there.”

“Don't be coy, Wes.” Angelus teased. “I know you're just dying to ask about the big beastie. Fire away.”

_ Are we getting somewhere, or not though? _ Wesley wondered. The ex-Watcher considered himself to be highly intelligent. He didn't know everything – as his experience in Sunnydale had proved all too well – but he was, to put it mildly, very smart. Angelus was smart too – he was an idiot as well, in some areas, but then, everyone, himself included, had their share of idiocy and some extra to spare. But more importantly, Angelus didn't think even remotely like he did. He was beyond just soulless vampire, beyond just a sociopath. Angelus didn't think like most other vampires, let alone humans. Wesley was a human, where it counted in his thought patterns. Perhaps, if he lived long enough, that might change...but he doubted he'd ever think on the same wavelength as Angelus. 

“Alright. Did you know the beast.”

Angelus looked up at the ceiling. “Well, now there's a question. Not a great question. Not even a particularly insightful question. And certainly not a Wyndam-Pryce worthy question.”

_ He has me there. _ Wesley admitted to himself. Only to himself. “If you knew the Beast, then why wouldn't Angel remember him too?”

Angelus smirked at his question. “There we go. As for the answer?” He shrugged again. “I don't know. Maybe he doesn't remember the good times. Or he doesn't let himself remember them. So like him.” He paused a beat. “Here's a question for you: What's the deal with Angel and the Raiders of the Lost Ark?”

_ Non-sequitur much? _ “The movie?” Wesley asked, confused.

“The perfect day fantasy he came up with. Caves, booby traps...the requisite phallic sword?”

“He fought the Beast in this fantasy?” It was doubtful that the fantasy would provide useful information, but he needed to keep Angelus talking. “

“Real candy-ass.” Angelus replied, unhelpfully.

“The Beast?”

“Angel. Not enough to be the hero. No, he couldn't be happy unless the whole gang was pitching in...of course, there was a clue pretty damn early one the whole thing was fake, if he'd been smart enough to catch it.”

“Oh?”

“You apologized. You actually apologized to him. I guess that would be a nice thing to have happen for him, but even he should've known that was never going to happen.”

_ I've never apologized to Angel in my life. Nor will I. _ “We both know that of the two of you, Angel is the...less bright, when it comes to a great many areas.”

“Oooh, now you're buttering me up. Not going to work, you know.”

Time to get back on track. “In this fantasy of his...Angel killed the Beast?”

“Had to, to get what he wanted. We all want something Wes. Its the way of the world. Everybody's got an agenda.”

_ Don't expect any prizes for coming up with a novel idea.  _ “And you're going to tell me mine, I take it?” He said, affecting a bored tone, crossing his arms in front of him. He considered throwing in a yawn, but decided that went too far.

“You want to come down here, get your vital stats on Lava Boy...play the big hero.”

_ As if. _ “I want to know how to kill the Beast. I'll leave the heroics to your better half. I have forever to live, and I'd rather not the world end before I've even got a year of that time under my belt.”

“Live forever...yea. Like me. Just without as many weak points. Must be nice.”

“It has its benefits, yes.” Wesley replied. 

“Of course, the first thing you decided to do with your forever was flip sides on your old friends and start banging the enemy. I watched all of you, while I was trapped inside soul-boy. I have to say, of all of them, you were the last I expected to do anything like that. All I can say is that Lilah had to have been a good lay...a little too tart for my tastes...but those legs...I bet she wraps them around-”

Wesley interrupted. Lilah was none of Angelus' concern. “The Beast called you an adversary.” Back on topic.

Angelus ignored him. “You say Lilah doesn't work for Wolfram and Hart, but we both know that's not the kind of place you just walk away from...no. Its the kind of place that draws you in. Seduces you. That's got to be why she bothered with you at all. And, bonus, she played you so well you saved her from the big beastie, when he came a knocking. Lilah's evil, Wes, like me! Well, not like me...nobody's as good at it as I am...you really think someone like her could care about you? Either you're working for Wolfram and Hart and playing us all, or Lilah's playing you.” Wesley tensed visibly at his words. Angelus chuckled. “Touched a nerve, have I? Where is Lilah anyway? I'd think she be here, with you.”

“She's off pursuing a lead.” Wesley replied.

The caged vampire laughed maliciously. “Is that what she told you? She's gone and skipped town on you, Wes.” Wesley's fists clenched. Despite himself, he found himself wondering if maybe....no, Angelus wasn't right. The vampire was just trying to mess with his head. Angelus' further chuckling was cut off by Wesley.

“You found a vulnerability and exploited it. Well done. Can we move on now?”

Angelus laughed again. “I'm just getting started. I'll tell you this though. All that digging you've been doing on the horny giant?” He adopted a sing-song tone. “Wrong place.”

Wesley raised an eyebrow. “And the right place?”

Angelus shook his head. “I could tell you....but I don't think so. It wouldn't be sporting.”

“But you were adversaries, you and the Beast?” Wesley persisted.

“A guy like me? Friends, enemies...it gets hard to keep track.”

“If I was an enemy, I'd be doing you a favor by destroying him.”

“You know.” Angelus said quietly. “You're not fooling anyone. Get some new clothes, a cool haircut, hit the gym, pick up some immortality. You're still the same loser none of the other kids wanted to sit with at lunch.”

“That was true, back at the Academy. But you need better material than that, Angelus.” Wesley crossed the red line around the cage, demarcating the farthest length Angelus could reach. He went right up to the bars. He wasn't surprised when Angelus didn't grab for him though. The vampire knew he couldn’t drink him, and he lacked an edged weapon to separate Wesley from his head. “And yet, Angelus, you're locked in that cage and I'm out here.”

“So?” The vampire shrugged. “You've got no leverage. What are you going to do? Kill me?”

“If I have to.”

Angelus scoffed. “Wait until they drop. Then try that line again.”

“Besides, killing you is hardly the worst thing I could do to you.” Wesley mused aloud. He stepped back across the red line, out of Angelus' reach. “I could always put your soul back. You won't talk? Not a problem. We'll bring Angel back and be no worse off than we were.”

“Making you a failure again.” Angelus taunted. “Its all you ever do, isn't it? Fail.” Wesley stiffened, his blood running cold. 

“If you want to waste my time.” He replied tersely, a hint – just a hint – of the anger Angelus sparked with his words in his tone. “You can rot down here.” He turned to leave. 

“Nice stamina Wes! No wonder Fred picked Gunn over you, last year.”

Wesley shrugged at that. It really didn't burn much anymore. “Whatever your connection to the Beast, clearly you don't know anything that can help us.”

“And now you're trying to make me get defensive. What, so I'll start talking, trying to prove you wrong? Got anything better?”

Wesley was halfway up the stairs, but he turned and looked at Angelus. “You must hate it. That Angel fights evil.”

“Eats you up inside, doesn't it?” Angelus agreed. “Seeing all those idiots flock around him, calling him a champion. Anyone ever call you a champion?”

“Why would I want to be? Besides, I do my part.”

“Riiight. Like letting Lilah suck Lorne's brain. Or here's an oldy but goody....Faith.” Angelus had found the real button to push with him. And the vampire was pushing for all it was worth. “Good job being her Watcher! She turned out to be peach.”

“And you managed to get your soul back, not once, but twice, saving the world several times in the process.” Wesley spat. “Nobody's perfect.”

“Then there's kidnapping the fruit of my loins. Smooth.”

“He survived.” Wesley replied flatly. 

“I guess you just can't understand that special bond between dad and son. Given that your own father's ashamed of you.”

“Different material, Angelus. Besides, Connor is ashamed of you. I'd say it's just the universe's way of maintaining equilibrium.”

“That twerp really gives me the creeps, you?”

_ Not so much the creeps, though he is pathetic beyond belief. I really can't believe I died trying to save the little bastard. _ “In Cordelia's vision, you and the Beast were standing in a field.” He was just about ready to let someone else try their hand at getting anything out of Angelus. Or at least take a brief break. Maybe a day more of trying before they returned the soul. 

“Oh god yea!” Angelus cried out enthusiastically. “Let's talk about Cordy, shall we? Huh? Now _there's_ a rack to write home about. Too bad about the personality though. Yap, yap, yap, yap. Talking on and on and on...” He made a terrible attempt at mimicking Cordelia's voice. “Oh god...Angel. Oh Angel...we can't! I love you, but you were _so_ bad! You ate...babies!” He dropped the mimicry. “Chicks.” Wesley looked at the camera, wondering what the others were thinking in response to Angelus' words. “So which do you think is worse,” he said suddenly, sparking Wesley's interest. “Stealing my kid like you did? Or banging him...like Cordelia? All that bumping and grinding...fire raining in the sky...quite a picture. Well, more of a snapshot really, cause Connor....” He chuckled.

It took Wesley a moment to register exactly what Angelus has said. The very idea was preposterous, and disgusting. Cordelia sleeping with Connor? The boy was her son in all but blood. She had been there when he was born...but Angelus...the look on his face. Evil he was, but there was truth there, in his words, his expression.  _ That...well...it explains... _ His thoughts just trailed off. He couldn't find the words. Though it explained...well, a great deal. 

“At least you thought you were doing the right thing...” _Its amazing that only Angelus could admit that..._ Angelus then suddenly changed subjects entirely, barking out. “Hey! Who's a guy got to kill to get a drink around here, huh?” Wesley held out his wrist, and then Angelus laughed. “I told you. Well, Soul-boy did anyway. I've met a Lightning Swordsman, and I know what your blood does to vampires.”

“Then you'll have to settle for pig's blood.” He went up stairs to see the others there, Connor looking bloodied and beaten up from his patrol outside, and the rest standing awkwardly around, actively avoiding looking at Connor or Cordelia. Understandable, given the recent revelation from Angelus. “He wants blood.” Wesley told them.

“I'll get it.” Fred was quick to say. 

“Me too.” Gunn said just as fast, and the two hurried to the kitchen. Wesley watched them go, then headed into the office, motioning for Cordelia to follow him in. The Seer didn't move for a moment, then followed him in.

“Explain.” Wesley said simply. 

“What's there to explain?” Cordelia said with a shrug. “I slept with Connor. It...I don't know what it was. I certainly didn't plan on it...”

“You slept with a boy who is your son in all but blood!” Wesley said. “And for that matter, he's Angel's son! What the hell is wrong with you!?” 

“What the hell are you shouting about?” Cordelia demanded. “Its not as if-”

“What you did was _incest_. Beyond that, its not as if Connor has had anything resembling a relationship before you decided to sleep with him. He was raised by a man with 18 th century mores, lived in a hell dimension devoid of human contact apart from Holtz for his entire life, and well...you know what's happened to him since he came back. You took advantage of the boy. He hardly had the mental capacity to say no even if he'd wanted to.” Wesley continued to barrel forward, preventing Cordelia from talking. “I thought I'd reached a threshold of how disgusted I could get between my time the Hellmouth and my time here in Los Angeles. You've raised the bar.”

Cordelia sputtered a moment. “Who are you to judge-” Wesley cut her off again.

“I don't want to hear your defense. Just as I'm sure Angel didn't wait for one.” Cordelia winced ever so slightly at that. He left her behind in the office, going to check on the security feed. In the basement Angelus was lunging at Fred, but a well-timed shot from Gunn's crossbow managed to throw Angelus' lunge off, the bolt embedded in his shoulder. Gunn and Fred went back upstairs quickly. Cordelia was still in the office, and frankly, Wesley didn't want to look at her. He hadn't lied when he'd told her that she'd raised the bar on how disgusted he could be. 

“I'm starting to think he doesn't know anything.” Gunn said after a moment. “Maybe Angelus and the Beast did meet, but Angel didn't remember it – I'm guessing that he doesn't remember either.”

“If you have any other ideas, I'd be glad to hear them.” Wesley said softly, though not without bite in the tone.

“No, I don't. But it just seems convenient that you and your lawyer-bitch girlf-” Gunn was cut off when Wesley's fist connected with his jaw. Gunn staggered back, but straightened back up quickly.

“I told you once, Gunn. Don't insult Lilah in my pres-” This time it was his turn to get slugged, as Gunn punched him, hard, in the chest. Wesley only managed to stay on his feet by grabbing the desk to stabilize himself. 

“Both of you, stop this!” Fred stepped between them. “This is hardly the time for this. Yes, it was Wesley's idea, but Angel agreed. It was his choice.”

“I'll bet this is all your girlfriend, still working for Wolfram and Hart. That's why you wanted Angelus. I'm thinking Angelus was right. Either you-” Wesley lunged at Gunn again, but drew up short as Fred interposed herself in-between his fist and Gunn. 

“The sun is gone, Angel's gone, we have his murderous alter-ego in a cage downstairs, and a giant demon is rampaging around the city. Stop it!” The physicist demanded. 

Gunn and Wesley stared each other down for a moment, then Wesley turned away. There was a whole lot more argument that could've been had, but the fact was that they both knew there were bigger things at stake. And Wesley could hardly blame them for not trusting Lilah or even himself. Well, he could, and did, but it wasn't hard to see why they didn't extend their trust, anyway.

Cordelia stepped out of the office as they all turned back to the Camera, Wesley getting ready to go down again for another round. However, it seemed Connor was already down there. Angelus played his usual brand of mind-games, and Wesley watched Connor react predictably.

“He's going to kill him.” Cordelia said softly, as the conversation progressed. Without another word, she hurried towards the basement. She talked Connor down, and he came back up a minute later. Cordelia stayed down there – and then sound stopped coming through, after Cordelia unhooked part of the Camera.

“What?” Lorne said. “Why did she take out the sound?”

“I would suspect that whatever she's saying to Angelus, she doesn't want the rest of us to hear.” The conversation continued for a few minutes, then Cordelia came back up. 

“He's ready to talk.”

That threw all of them for a loop. Finally, Fred started, “I don't understand.”

“Yea.” Gunn agreed. “Why is Sid Viscous suddenly Mr. Show and Tell.”

Lorne laughed a little, “Well, honey-buns here must have a secret stash of Higher Power dust.”

Wesley saw an odd facial tick pass across Cordelia's face before she responded. He mentally filed it away for further consideration. “Something like that. He's ready, Wes, whenever-”

“Why don't you want to tell us what you said to him?” Connor demanded bluntly. _Good question, Hellspawn._ Wesley mused.

“I did what I had to.” _Oh, now there's a familiar line – somehow I don't recall it working when I tried to use it._

“Which means what?” Gunn countered suspiciously. 

“Cordelia...” Fred started.

“Connor's right.” _Damn, I never thought I'd be saying that..._ “We're all painfully aware of Angelus' ability to manipulate-”

“I'm not being manipulated.” Cordelia replied flatly.

_ Like you'd know... _ “It would be better if I knew. Its not as if your judgment-” 

Cordelia cut Wesley off, her tone brooking no more argument. Even if Wesley pushed more, he knew he'd get nowhere. “It would be better if you didn't, actually.”

_ Lack of knowledge has never helped anyone, Cordelia. _ Wesley countered mentally, but he didn't say anything. Instead he just raised an eyebrow, “All right...” He headed down into the basement to speak to Angelus.


	14. Gambits

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Angel the Series

Thanks to my beta, Oxnate

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 14: Gambits

Right now, Wesley's mood was as dark as the Black Sun in the skies above.

Angelus had told them about his past with the Beast, about the trail of bodies the rock-skinned demon had left for him, as part of plan to get the Scourge of Europe to kill a group of Nordic Priestesses that were trying to bind said demon away for a long time. Given Angelus's inability to be a team player, it was no surprise that he had refused the Beast's offer, and nearly gotten killed – again – in a fight with it. His unlife had only been saved by the timely intervention of those very Priestesses – the Svea – that Angelus had avoided total destruction.

So for a brief few hours, they'd had some hope that they could defeat the Beast. They'd located the Priestesses, taken a trip to their home – which luckily – and oddly – had been right there in Los Angeles – and found the entire family dead, murdered in their homes by...something. Possibly the Beast, but if he hadn't been able to touch them in 1789...he shouldn't have been able to do so. So either he'd found a way around that, or, more likely, the Beast had an accomplice, or a minion or minions. Which would certainly help explain how it had sneaked past Angel and Cordelia. Drugged or not, the Beast was simply too large and bulky to just sneak by the both of them unnoticed.

So not only did they have a nigh-invulnerable rock-skinned demon with the ability to hit like a Mack truck to deal with, but it might well have a veritable army of servants and allies to help it accomplish its goals – whatever exactly those were.

Coming 'home' then, to the Hyperion' without a way to get rid of the Beast...not at all pleasant. Especially since the whole idea of bringing out Angelus to find out what he knew was now entirely meaningless. The information he gave them was – well, would have been – useful...at least if the Svea Priestesses hadn't been massacred in their homes several days before. So he'd gotten rid of the Champion, their best fighter – Wesley could probably defeat Angel or Angelus if he could choose the terrain and managed to get a bit of a drop on the vampire, but he doubted he was old enough as an immortal to have accumulated the kind of strength he'd need to take Angel or Angelus head on in a fight, and the fact remained that if anyone was going to be able to kill the Beast, Angel would need to be involved somehow.

_ Although _ , Wesley considered as they drove from the Hyperion back towards the temple of the Kun-Sun-Dai,  _ Emil is continuing to work on getting the heavy weapons – rather surprised he didn't skip town – so we may be able to use that. _ The arms dealer had told him another day – at most – was all he needed. The current blackout was causing problems, and delivery was a nightmare, but despite the 'crime wave' – read, vampire party – that was causing mayhem across the city, Emil was quite confident that he could get the weapon to somewhere that Wesley could buy it from him soon. Though the price had been jacked up, due to the risks of transporting it and the greater overhead in the current situation.

That, however, could not make up for the worst thing, the thing that was really darkening Wesley's mood.

Angel's soul was gone.

Despite placing it securely in the safe in his –  _ no, Angel's, _ he corrected himself – office, the muo-ping had vanished completely, none of them noticing it being taken. Further giving suggestion to the 'The Beast has accomplices and or minions' argument. And to make things even worse, they were wasting their time going back to Wo Pang and the Temple of the Kun-Sun-Dai. Wesley knew full well that Wo Pang had absolutely no reason to steal Angel's soul from them. The Order was many things, and quite evil, but the dark rituals they practiced that required souls to fuel them could not use the soul of a vampire. Wesley had made quite sure of that. The soul had to come from a human, and the man could've easily found a human soul, rather than wasting time getting Angel's even if Angel's soul was compatible.

Connor, Cordelia and Gunn didn't seem to agree with him however. Which left him in the annoying position of taking Cordelia and the ever pathetic 'Angel Jr.' to Wo Pang, leaving the others to keep an eye on Angelus, forcing them to make absolutely no forward progress on finding Angel's soul or getting rid of the Beast.

The Ex-Watcher didn't even bother with words when the guards tried to stop them from entering again. He punched one in the gut, while Connor probably disintegrated every bone in the other one's nose to powder with the punch the son-of-vampire delivered to his face. Charming. Once again Wesley went down the central hall, though with company this time. In the hall, once again a third and final guard was punched through the beaded curtain – this time by Connor – and Wesley smirked when he heard Wo Pang murmur 'must acquire better guards'.

_ Point. A definite point. _ The ex-Watcher considered. Then they stepped through the curtain after Connor's latest victim.

“Angel's soul has been stolen.” Wesley started in immediately. If they were going to waste time here, they might as well waste as little time as possible and get right to the point.

Wo Pang shrugged - it was impossible to see his expression. “I have no need for the vampire's soul.”  _ Just like I told them. Gah. I don't recall Cordelia being quite so aggravating...before. Did counting her as a friend color my perceptions so much? Or did her time as a higher power change her personality? She would never have-  _ He stopped wasting his time on that train of thought. He'd been getting nowhere on figuring out what – if anything – was wrong with Cordelia. He had better things to do than consider it if he was going to make no forward progress on the consideration.

“Then where is it?” Connor demanded. Wo Pang cast a handful of bones into the ritual circle of candles he had been kneeing in front of before they'd entered. He looked over the result and then back at them.

“That I cannot discern.” A pause. “But it is still viable within the muo-ping.”

Connor chose then to display his characteristic 'intelligence'. “The muo- what?”

Wesley barely managed to stop himself from facepalming. “He means that it is still safe within the container that he put it in in the first place. The container, I should point out, that was stolen without any of us – myself included – noticing.”

Cordelia stepped forward. “Angel's soul has been misplaced.”  _ Amazing how many times he does... _ Wesley started to snark mentally, then stopped himself, realizing how hypocritical that was. He was, after all, responsible for Angel's soul being lost this time. Getting it stolen hadn't been on the agenda, of course, but for the rest...the blame laid at his feet. For the most part. Because, at the end of the day, Angel did agree to go along with his plan. The lion's share of the blame went to Wesley, but Angel deserved a slice as well.  _ Still...my failures in life continue to build. Father would be so pleased. _

Cordelia continued. “I bet that sort of thing happens all the time. What do you have as a back-up plan to re-ensoul somebody?”

Wo Pang's response was predictable and discouraging. “There is no other way known to me. Without the muo-ping...” His voice trailed off, as if he was searching for the right words. “You're screwed.” He concluded simply – even Wesley found his choice of words a bit of a surprise, given who he was – and the fact that Wesley knew he was a old immortal.

“What happens if the muo-...the container-thing breaks, or gets opened?” Connor displayed a rare moment of actual intelligence... _ Odd. _

“Then, like all things, the soul can be returned or destroyed.” As Wo Pang finished his statement a sharp wind blew through the chamber, extinguishing the circle of candles. An ominous 'omen', of sorts. Or possibly not. The joy of omens was in their vagueness, after all.

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

Lilah was there in the lobby when the three of them got back to the Hyperion. Fred was researching, and Gunn was still fiddling with that flamethrower of his. Both were ignoring Lilah, and she them. Wesley felt a surge of relief on seeing her again. True, she was Immortal, but still, he'd worried. Came with loving someone, he supposed. Letting someone matter to you so much...it did come with a price, even if it was worth that price.

“I found something. On the Beast.” Her simple declaration drew the attention of everyone else in the lobby. She handed Wesley a book with a red cover, one Wesley knew all to well, a knowing smirk on her face.

“Rhinehardt's Compendium? I've already checked.” Idly, he flipped quickly through the pages. “There's nothing in here that even remotely describes...” One illustration drew his eye and he stopped, his voice trailing off. “...it.” He was looking at a very detailed, perfectly accurate drawing of the beast from about mid-chest up.  _ This makes... _ He flipped through the book again, consulting other passages he knew by heart – or as close as made no difference. There was no change in those passages. Apart from the section on the Beast... He looked up at Lilah. “It's identical to my copy, except for this one passage. How -”

Lilah kept her knowing smirk. “Its not a local copy. I called in a few favors. That one is from the pan-dimensional black market. It hasn't been in this dimension for a long time.”

“But still...it should be the exact same text...unless...” His voice trailed off again, and he realized Lilah had already reached the same conclusion he was reaching now. 

“Unless what?” Connor asked, interjecting into their conversation. Wesley turned to face the rest of them.

“We'd have to check more extra-dimensional books, to be sure...but what if at one point there  _ were _ references to the Beast, in Rhinehardt's Compendium and other volumes, here in this dimension? That were somehow removed?”

“That kind of power...” Fred said slowly. She had a genuinely terrified look on her face, for the briefest of seconds. “That's...”

“Yes.” Wesley said. “The only question is...what on earth could something that powerful have to hide?” He looked back at Lilah. “Was there anything in here, about weaknesses?”

“One. Apparently, its bones, they're extremely dense and tough. They'd have to be to carry the weigh of the damn thing. Its bones are so dense, in fact, that they're, as far as Reinehardt could theorize, the only thing that should be able to pierce its skin. Then again, he wrote this a few centuries back, so maybe an anti-tank weapon might work.” Lilah added.

“Its bones? That's how we defeat it?” Cordelia snarked. “How helpful. We'll just ask it to rip out a femur for us, shall we?”

“And did  _ you _ make any progress? I see you managed to get Angel's soul out. Find anything useful?”

“For a given value of the word useful, yes.” Wesley replied, deadpan. He relayed to her the information about the Svea Priestesses – and how they were dead. “My only conclusion is that the Beast must have minions of some kind-” 

He was interrupted by Angelus speaking, the vampire's voice coming through the video feed. “Moron. The big rock doesn't have minions. It  _ is _ the minion.”  _ Oh. I forgot about that. _ As if reading his thoughts, Angelus continued: “Forgot about how I can hear you up there from down here, didn't you?”

“The Beast can't be a minion.” Fred replied to the vampire. “We've seen what it can do.”

Angelus laughed coldly in response. “You haven't seen anything. All you've seen is the warm up act.”

“What are you saying?” Cordelia asked, eyes narrowed, tone suspicious.

“I'm saying there's something more going on. That there's something bigger coming. Something worse. I'm saying that the Beast has a boss.” He didn't need to add anything else for dramatic effect. His words had all the dramatic effect one could ask for.

“Worse than the beast?” The sarcasm in Gunn's voice carried an implied scoff as well.

“That's...that's not possible.” Cordelia remarked.

“How did you survive this long being so retarded?” Angelus asked, sounding genuinely confused. More likely he wasn't that confused – Angelus was quite the actor.

“Cut the Fu-Manchu. What do you know?” Gunn demanded. 

“Quite a bit, bright boy.” Angelus replied. “Maybe I'll fill in the blanks sometime. If I feel like it.”

“How do you know there's something worse than the Beast?” Connor interjected. “You've been stuck in that cage the whole time you've been here.”

“'Cause I've got brain, son.” Angelus replied sarcastically. “The Beast I knew was big on the smash and slaughter.” Angelus cocked his head in consideration. “Had the brawn to pull it off too. Be _ really _ good at it. But the big picture?” Angelus shook his head. “Not his strong point. But whoa...flash forward. Now he's all rain of fire, destroying the Ra-tet, blotting out the sun. Big moves for a guy who's head is made entirely out of rock.”

Wesley hadn't spoken at all during the exchange. He was....pondering. Thinking. And berating himself for not thinking about that. True, all he had to go about the Beast was Angelus's little story, but that was pretty much all about the Beast that Angelus had known, it sounded like. But...the vampire made sense. Lilah had commented, on the question of why the Beast brought on the Rain of Fire, 'he's the 800 pound gorilla. He can do whatever the hell he wants.' Unfortunately, that fact seemed very true. Still...why? They'd been too busy trying to figure out what the Beast was, how to kill it, or trying to stop it from blotting out the sun to really get right down and think about motives. The reality of the situation...why? Nothing, no one, despite what they might say, or what it might seem, did things, at the end of the day, 'just because'.

“Maybe he got smarter.” Cordelia sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as Angelus. The alternative was, after all, almost too horrible to comprehend. Something worse than the Beast?

Angelus laughed, speaking through the chuckles. “And maybe I'll sprout some pretty butterfly wings and flutter away.” he concluded in a light tone. “There's something else out there. Its more powerful and more viscous than Beasty-boy. Pulling the strings.” Angelus shuddered, making an 'oooh' sound. “I don't know about you...but I'm, just  _ dying _ to find out what it is.”

“If the Beast does have a master.” Lilah said, after several minutes of silence stretched, “Then that might be the reason behind the wiping of all information about it in this dimension.”

“Something worth hiding.” Wesley continued off that thought. “Is there-”

Lilah shook her head. “No. Nothing along those lines in Rhinehardt's. I would presume it was a blanket wipe – something else that got wiped probably had information on that front.”

“If everything got wiped – which would be Angel didn't remember meeting the Beast.” Gunn started. “Then how did Angelus remember?”  _ Gunn surprises me with his intelligence on this one. That's a first. _

“Because,” Fred began, “his mind wasn't here when the spell was cast, or whatever it was happened.”

Wesley nodded. “We should compare this passage with the information that was extracted from Lorne's head. There might be-”

“Yea, have fun with that.” Gunn cut in tersely. 

“Charles.” Fred cut in.

“Someone's got to go downstairs, keep an eye on our boy.” The black man picked up the flamethrower and its attached gas can and headed downstairs.

Another hour of research, and Fred threw her hands up in the air in disgust. “This is hopeless. The only way to restore Angel's soul without the muo-ping is an Orb of Thesulah. And that only works if the soul has moved on to the afterlife, not floating in a jar somewhere.”

“We'll find a way to bring Angel back.” Wesley said. Half of the reason he said it was an attempt to convince himself. 

“How?”

“By clicking our heels together and saying there's no place like home?” Lilah cut in. “That's how hopeless cases are always solved, aren't-”

“Lilah.” Wesley looked pointedly at her. She returned his look, but said nothing else.

“As much as I hate to admit it.” Fred started. “She has a point. Unless we can get the muo-ping...its hopeless. There is a spell...” She grabbed one of the myriad open books lying on the desk. “Delothrian's Arrow. I can't find all the information, but I think...if we can cast it, it might be able to break the muo-ping...then we could use an Orb of Thesulah...but it looks like...that's a lot of powerful magic at work there. Not sure we could pull it off.”

Cordelia chose that moment to come down the stairs, entering into the lobby. “Any progress?”

“Some.” Wesley replied. “I've made some headway cross-referencing, but there's no way I can tell how long it will be until I find something conclusive, or even remotely useful.”

“So no real progress?”

“Not really.” He replied. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I need a slight change of pace. I'll go relieve Gunn. See if I can get anything more out of Angelus. If there's anything more to get.” He headed down into the basement. Lilah looked at the two other women. 

“So now what? Ouija board?” The front door opened before either Fred or Cordelia could answer. Lorne stepped into the lobby. Lilah noted with some amusement the way Fred's expression visibly lightened up.

“Lorne! Did you find anything?!”

“Zip. Zilch. Nada. Nothing.” Lorne answered Fred. Then he saw Lilah. “Lovely. What is succu-bitch doing here? I'd hoped she was gone for good.”

“Sorry to disappoint Lorne.” Lilah replied with a smirk. “I'm like a bad penny. I keep coming back.”

“Definitely bad, that’s for sure.” Cordelia snarked. She turned to Lorne. "So really, nothing?” 

“Afraid so Cordy-kins.” Lorne replied. “I talked to every contact that hasn't beat it for higher ground. Nobody's heard bo-peep about Angel's soul.”

Lilah scoffed. Cordelia glared at her. “You have something to say?”

“Forget about the goody-goody. You want to kill the Beast and give his boss a run for his evil? The answer's downstairs in a cage. Sic Angelus on him.” Though she mostly said that to get a rise out of the Vision-Girl, Lilah did think it was hardly the worst thing they could try. Given that everything else had failed, and they were making absolutely no forward progress.

“Do you know what Angelus would do if we let him out?” Cordelia demanded. 

“Kill us all in a bloody shower of violence!” Lilah exclaimed, gesturing widely.  _ Well, except for me and Wes. _ She added to herself. “But hey, greater good, right? That's what being a hero is all about, right? I wouldn't not.”

“Like we didn't know that.” Fred commented from the sidelines. 

'We'll find another way. I'm sure if we all just-”

Lilah cut Cordelia off. “What? Hold hands and sing Kumbaya? That might be a little hard when the Beast is ripping your guts out.” Lilah headed for the stairs and started up then before Cordelia came back with a reply.

“Lilah, I know things look grim right now...” She said, in what was obviously an attempt at a reassuring tone.

“Look, Saint Cordelia.” Lilah said, not turning around. “I'm not any more interested in the world ending than you are. Hell, I live here. But I'm not going to indulge in false hope. We're about as close to doomed as anyone could be right now. So don't go all Watchtower on me. I don't think I could stomach it.”

“Man, I'd love to punch your face in.” Cordelia murmured. 

“Are you trying to turn me on?” Lilah said, mostly facetiously as she turned around, a smile playing across her face.

“You know what you're problem is?” 

“Enlighten me.” 

“You're afraid.”

“ _ Fascinating _ .” Lilah replied. “Now that we've got that settled...” She turned and started back up the stairs. 

“You're too afraid to believe in anything. You won't believe in anything because you're too scared to hope.” Lilah crossed her arms and rolled her eyes as Cordelia continued her 'rallying' speech. “You won't even open your eyes to the possibility-”

Lilah spun around, cutting Cordelia off again. “You don’t get it, do you, Vision-Girl?” She chuckled darkly. “I would _love,_ absolutely _love_ for the world to not end. I would love for this all to work out and for the Beast to get what's coming to it. Its not as if I want us all to die a goddamned bloody death at the hands of a giant rock-demon or your friend down there. But the fact of the matter is that we're screwed. Do you think I got this far by sticking my head in the sand? The Beast that eviscerated everyone else at Wolfram and Hart and God knows how many other people has a boss and that boss is almost certainly going to end life as we know it and without a doubt nobody is coming to save us! Not Angel, not the Powers That Be and not the Forty-damned-second Cavalry! We're all we've got and given from our results so far, out odds are nearly non-existent. So if anybody has  scales on their eyes…” She saw Cordelia's head rock back for a moment, and when she opened her eyes again they were...a milky...a milky...kinda solid white. No pupils. “...its you.” Lilah finished, tone quiet. 

“I can bring him back.” Cordelia said breathily. “I know how to re-ensoul Angel.”

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

The hardest part of getting what Cordelia had seen in her vision as requisite for restoring Angel's soul, was probably going to be getting the head of the Soul-Eater. Fortunately, Gunn and Connor had gone off to get the head, and Wesley was was quite confident that Connor and Gunn – despite their deficiencies in many areas – were more than capable of retrieving it while remaining intact themselves. While they had worked on getting another one of the requisite items, Lilah had expressed a great deal of incredulity that the Powers that Be had bothered.

Wesley had to agree. Given how unhelpful they'd been up to this point – no warnings about how the 'Prophecy' had been fake, about how Wesley would act on that 'Prophecy' by stealing Connor. How Connor would then get taken away to Quor'Toth by Holtz, or a myriad of other useful details – like Angel getting sealed away in a metal box for an entire summer – the fact that they were suddenly intervening now was hard to believe, and highly annoying.  _ I'd say the Powers that Be were watching a U.S. Cavalry film. _ Wesley mused inwardly, recalling with, a slight smile, a previous use of that joke when he'd heard a comedian talking about the United States finally getting involved in the Second World War.

“Seven Talismans, built to spec.” Cordelia said, as they finally got them together. 

“Sometimes, I hate this life.”  _ Only sometimes? _ Wesley didn't voice that question.

Cordelia nodded in agreement. “Dumpster diving for week old buffalo wings? Definitely not in the job description.”

“Try de-clawing scavenged road-kill for three sacred talons.” Fred countered. 

“Never do I have the happy frolicking puppy visions.” Cordelia complained. “Always the bones and death and-” Her voice trailed off as Gunn and Connor returned with the head. They set it on the desk, leaking blood. 

“It looks rather...fresh.” Wesley remarked.

“We moved up its expiration date.” Gunn replied, and both he and Connor chuckled slightly.

“Cordelia?” Wesley looked at the seer. She closed her eyes a moment, breathing deep.

“I just see the skull.” She said finally. “It doesn't have any...you know...parts.”

“Right. Take it to the kitchen and remove the flesh and soft-tissue.” Gunn and Connor took the head to do just that.

“Its just like being back at Wolfram and Hart.” Lilah said with a chuckle. “Except the suits are by Liberace.” Lorne sighed and left the room at that.

Soon enough, everything was ready for the spell. Wesley and Lilah were remaining upstairs in the lobby, watching the proceedings through the video feed.

“Have you all lost your minds?” Angelus said with a chuckle. “Using black magic to restore my soul? People, this never goes well. Am I the only one paying attention here?”

“He's got a good point.” Lilah told Wesley. “Ten-to-one the entire hotel gets sucked into a hell dimension.”

“You with the shutting up.” Gunn told Angelus.

“Talk about eleventh hour desperation. Face it, you're grasping. No jar. No soul.”

“You sound pretty desperate yourself.” Cordelia replied. They all continued in that vein for a while, before the spell began. Angelus tried to throw them off their chanting, but to their credit, Wesley saw, they didn't let that happen. Finally the magic started to work. He watched, with a bit of guilty – though not very – pleasure as Angelus doubled over in pain, a wispy white-grey cloud of smoke rising up from the center of the circle and snaking towards them.

“I promise you...” Angelus managed to get out through the pain. “This isn't...the end.” He moaned in pain as the cloud enveloped him completely and glowing energy surrounded his body, lifting him up in the air. The skull of the Soul-Eater exploded and the energy disappeared. Angelus fell to the floor. 

The next short time seemed...well...it seemed good. It seemed as though Angel was back with them – a confirmation by Lorne seemed to settle the matter. Even Wesley was accepting of that fact. And he was taken aback when Angel made an actual intelligent decision to remain in the cage, in case the restoration didn't take. Connor, perhaps predictably given his sexual relationship with Cordelia – which Lilah had found  _ quite _ amusing – was less than pleased Angel was back.

Except, as it turned out, he wasn't. Wesley, Lilah and Fred had gone back to the books, Lorne was out looking for more info on this 'Beastmaster', and Connor and Gunn were out on 'damage control'. None of them were watching the video feed, as apparently Cordelia tried to give Angel some kind of pep talk. Finally Angel left the hotel, after Cordelia let him out of the cage. Even Angel hadn't been overdramatic enough to say 'I have to go save the world' like that. He should have known Angelus was play-acting as he souled version.

The only think he couldn't understand, as he left the hotel, leaving just Lilah and Cordelia there to keep an eye on things while they went out to find Angelus, was how the vampire had managed to fool Lorne's reading.

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

Lilah was sitting at the desk, watching Cordelia sitting on the couch, holding an icepack to her head.

“And he was let me think I was talking him into it.” The Seer said dejectedly. 

“Those evil geniuses, they get you every time.” Lilah was suffering from a distinct case of schadenfreude. On the one hand, she was right. That always felt good. On the other, Angelus was loose, which was not in the least a good thing – she didn't like Angel or his little gang in the least, but she was also realistic enough to know that if they had any chance of getting out of this alive – not that she was expecting such, even given her Immortality – Wesley and her weren't enough to stop whatever was going on. They'd need Angel, Cordelia, Lorne, Gunn...the hellspawn...even the Texas Twig.

“The Beast...and then Angelus...now there's something worse coming... I thought the spell was...”

“Divine intervention?” Lilah interjected. It really was amazing Wolfram and Hart hadn't managed to beat this motley little gang by now. Mostly, she mused, because the Senior Partners were so obsessed with getting Angel on their side. “Trust me, you have a better chance of winning the lottery...six times in a row. I did the numbers, once.”

“It just makes me question-” Cordelia was cut off by an all too-familiar voice. 

“What's it all for, huh? I would wonder about that too, if I were about to die.” Lilah and Cordelia both looked up to see Angelus on the balcony above. Without a word, Lilah began to empty her gun in Angelus's direction, but the vampire moved too-quickly, jumping down towards the lobby, even catching Cordelia's crossbow bolt in mid-air. “This time,” He slammed the bolt into the Seer's thigh. “You stay down!” The vampire turned to Lilah. Even though she knew was immortal, she felt unavoidable fear. It was a natural instinct. She still wasn't entirely used to her new status. She also knew that she couldn't let Angelus feed on her, unless there were no other options. She didn't like the vampire, souled or unsouled, But they would need him. 

_Sometimes I hate having a stake in things._

“I'll give you ten seconds.” He told her. Lilah made the best use of them she could. 

“Lilah...oh...Lilah...” Angelus sing-songed through the hallways as he followed her. “Oh, Lilah, I had such high hopes for you-” He turned a corner and grabbed her by the throat.  _ Fuck. I didn't realize he was so close.  _ “Your devious mind. My killer instincts. What a team we would have made.”

“Could still make.” She managed to get out, stalling for time.

“Always trying to close the deal.” Angelus smirked. “Unfortunately, with the new big scary in town...you're just not that tough anymore. And frankly, I'm a winning team kind of guy. Plus, with the people shortage-” Lilah cut him off by kneeing him in the groin, breaking free of his grip during his distraction and racing down the hall. She knew she hadn't lost him as she turned down another hall, breathing somewhat hard, when Cordelia – showing strength she hadn't known the Seer had – pulled her – again by the throat – into an alcove and pushing her up against the wall.

“He's gonna kill us.” She said.

“I know.” Cordelia said flatly. Her eyes went all milky-white again. “Why do you think I let him out, you stupid bitch?” She brought up a knife and drove it into her neck. Fortunately not severing the head though. Lilah did 'die' too quickly to have any last thoughts on the subject. At least for the moment.

When Angel stumbled upon her body, blood staining the carpet from her wound, he facepalmed. “Well...that's no fun...” Then he saw the blue lightning dancing across her cut. “That's really no fun.” He complained. “And I don't even have a sword or axe on hand.” Lilah's eyes snapped open.

“That wasn't pleasant.” Lilah said, getting up quickly. “What, surprised?”

“Actually, a bit. I'll have to kill you later, when I bring a sword along.” He 'vanished' down another dark hallway.

_ Cordelia is the big bad. Can't say I saw that coming. _ “So where is that little bitch?” She thought aloud.

**Author's Note:** Bonus points to anyone who can figure out which Comedian Wesley was referring to.


	15. Driver's Seat

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it. 

Thanks to my beta, Oxnate

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 15: Driver's Seat

“Nice knife, Vision-Girl.” Lilah said from behind the other brunette woman. “You should've gone for taking off my head, not just a little stab. I heal a lot faster than I used to.” It wasn't that hard for her to catch Cordelia's wrist as she spun around, knife ready to stab her again. Lilah tutted. “Not so fast.”

“How-” Cordelia started, then her eyes narrowed. “You're like Wesley.” Her tone was entirely un-Cordelia like. Cordelia could be cold, harsh, but there was a certain combination of imperiousness, coldness and harshness that Lilah had never heard from the woman who had earned the title of 'Queen C'. It was...a powerful tone, was all she could describe it as. To a degree the Cordelia that had fought alongside Angel for three years in L.A. had never before shown.

“And you're not Cordelia. Because from what I've seen of you – and remember, we had cameras in the hotel for the better part of a year – the real Cordelia wouldn't stab a helpless unarmed human, even someone like me. And then there's the fact that you told me-” Cordelia wrestled her hand from Lilah's grip and, with surprising strength, punched Lilah with her other fist. The immortal lawyer did manage to avoid getting punched in the throat – immortality didn't mean you didn't feel pain, more's the pity – but she was hit in the shoulder. Lilah staggered back. “ _And_ you've found a way to up your strength too.” Lilah said through gritted teeth.

Cordelia didn't respond, instead swinging at her with the knife. Lilah managed to avoid the attack, grabbing at Cordelia's wrist again. This time she missed the wrist, but her hand did close around the blade of the weapon. As it bit into the flesh of her hand Lilah grimaced, but didn't let go. The two woman tugged the knife back and forth, only digging deeper into Lilah's flesh, her blood trickling down the blade in tiny rivulets of red. With a powerful yank, Cordelia ripped the knife from Lilah's hand, staggering back a pace from overcompensation before running away down the hallway.

Lilah ignored the pain in her hand – and indeed, already the blue lightning was knitting flesh and muscle back together – and hurried after the – possessed? - woman, sorting through the facts in her mind as she ran,

One – Cordelia had spent some time on another plane.

Two – Cordelia came back...in theory – with no memory of who she was or what had happened to her.

Three – Cordelia and Angel's hellspawn had had sex. She had been as surprised as Wesley – though not as appalled, given just how hard it was to really horrify her these days - when he'd told her what Angelus had claimed, and Cordelia confirmed. It didn't make sense though – she had seen, back when the cameras Gavin had put in place in the Hyperion had still been there and working, she had seen Cordelia change the kid's diapers, for crying out loud!

Four – Cordelia, or something controlling her, was obviously the big bad of this whole situation, According to her own words, she had been the one to let Angelus out.

Five – That suggested that she'd wanted Angelus out from the beginning. If that was true, then she could very easily have been behind the Beast – the rain of fire, the attack on Wolfram and Hart, the blotting out of the sun...she could have been the one to kill Manjet...she had to have been. If she was the one planning all of this...and since no one would ever have thought to suspect Cordelia...

That's when she realized. Angel's soul. 'Cordelia' would want to keep it close...in her room. Lilah immediately changed course, no longer going in the direction Cordelia had gone, instead going to the Seer's room. Once she reached it though, she saw that Cordelia had obviously had the same idea and was standing in the way of the door. Obviously she was unwilling to give Lilah the chance to get the soul.

“So what should I call you?” Lilah asked. “Does 'Evil Cordy' work?” She quipped.

“Your tiny mind couldn't possibly even begin to attempt to comprehend what I am.” 'Cordelia' answered. So far she had made no move to attack her. Yet. 

“So now what? Are you going to tell me your evil plan, or do you not subscribe to that particular cliché?”

This time 'Cordelia' chose not to respond, instead she lunged at Lilah, who was taken by surprise just enough that she was unable to evade the attack, and 'Cordelia' collided with her, bringing both of them tumbling to the ground. With anger in her eyes, 'Cordelia' stabbed down towards Lilah's throat with the knife. Lilah managed to catch the wrist again, holding it mere inches from killing her...again. But of the two of them, 'Cordelia' was stronger. It wasn't easy to hold the knife back, and Lilah knew that sooner or later – sooner being the more likely – 'Cordelia's' continued pressing downward would bring the knife through her throat. The knife was sharp enough to saw through her neck, once she was 'dead'.

Moving quickly, she let go of 'Cordelia's' wrist and rolled her head to the left. The knife missed her throat almost entirely, only nicking the side of it and then burying itself into the floor a bit. Healing instantly, Lilah kicked up, hitting 'Cordelia' between the shoulder blades, distracting her long enough for Lilah to grab the hilt of the still stuck weapon. She spun it in her hand and brought the hilt towards 'Cordelia'. Killing 'Cordelia' was not an option in the least. At the very least, apart from Wesley, the others would never believe her if she just went and killed 'Cordelia', and more importantly, they needed more information. They needed to know what on earth 'Cordelia' was planning – what was possessing her.

This all passed through her mind quickly, and Lilah rendered the whole question moot. With a swift strike, she brought the hilt of the knife crashing into the side of 'Cordelia's' head. The Seer's eyes rolled into the back of her had and she slumped sideways, unconscious.

Lilah unceremoniously pushed 'Cordelia's' prone body off of hers and stood up. First things first, she needed to get 'Cordelia' someplace where she could be contained. Tying her to a chair, or something like that. That didn't take long, however, and soon 'Cordelia' was safely bound and gagged, tied to a chair in he lobby. Finding Angel's soul wasn't that hard either. Apparently taking confidence in the fact that no one would have suspected her, 'Cordelia' hadn't hidden it that hard. Muo-ping in hand, she went back down to the lobby.

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

There were a few things Wesley had been expecting as possible sights once they'd realized that Angelus had simply led them on a merry chase only to double back to the Hotel. He wasn't concerned about Lilah – she would live – but Cordelia was at risk, and if Angelus did manage to catch and bite Lilah, he'd die. Better a dead Angelus than one allowed to roam free, but even better if they could bring back Angel. And despite Cordelia's...issues, she was still important, even if her visions had been either absent or less than useful. Not just not useful in fact...but downright harmful...

He'd been prepared for a few different sights. What he hadn't been prepared for was an unconscious Cordelia tied to a chair, with her hands bound behind the chair and duct-tape over her mouth. Connor ran towards her, concern for Cordelia and anger at whoever had done this to her written all over his face. Something heavy had hit her on the side of the head. He could tell she was breathing from the slow rise of her chest.

_Why would Angelus not kill her, but instead just tie her up like that? He couldn't have turned her – there's no bite marks anyway..._

The fact of the matter was that Angelus  _ wouldn't _ just tie her up. He couldn't imagine the Beast would either. The only other person who could've done it under any reasonable metric of likelihood would be...

Looking up, “Lilah.” He said as he saw her walking down the stairs, holding something in her- “The muo-ping. You found it-” Everyone looked away from the unconscious Cordelia at his words, and at the brunette lawyer walking down the stairs, indeed holding in one hand a glass orb-shaped jar that held some kind of swirling essence. Angel's soul. She had found the muo-ping.

“Very convenient that you just so happen to find -” Gunn started. Lilah rolled her eyes and cut him off. 

“It is indeed very convenient. Given that I found it in Cordelia's room, and she was the one who stole it and knowingly let Angelus out of the cage. She wasn't tricked.”

“If you're going to try and tell divisive lies, at least make them believable ones.” Fred replied with a scoff. Wesley looked pointedly at her, but she just glared back at him. Connor looked like he was about to leap at Lilah and personally poke her eyeballs out with his thumbs.

Wesley turned his gaze back to Lilah. “I'll grant that finding it in Cordelia's room is strange in of itself, but its not as if whoever really did steal it couldn't have just hidden it there to throw us off. What possessed you to even look in Cordelia's room in the first place?” He noticed that Lilah smirked as he said 'possessed'.  _ Why? _

“Well, let's start with the fact that that's not really Cordelia there. Or, at least, Cordelia's not in the driver's seat.” She continued to walk down the stairs as she talked.

“That's enough!” Connor said angrily, stalking towards Lilah, who had reached the bottom of the stairs now. “You can't say those things about Cordy!” Angel's hellspawn drew his knife, but before he could make to actually attack her, Wesley had his gun drawn and aimed at Connor. Connor was bold and stupid, but he knew what guns could do after being in the real world for this long. The hellspawn stopped and lowered his knife, but from the look on his face, he wasn't going to restrain himself for much longer. 

“Wesley!” Fred exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

“I'm going to have to second the question of Fred here.” Lorne said. Gunn didn't say anything, but his grip on his weapon tightened. 

“We are going to give Lilah a chance to explain why she has come to these conclusions about Cordelia. At the moment we're all in the same boat here, and of all the things she could choose to lie about, don't you think she'd be intelligent enough to tell a life that we'd actually believe? The truth is far stranger than fiction. The idea of Cordelia being possessed is hardly the strangest idea we've had to swallow in just the last year.” He looked back at Lilah. “Explain.”

“Well, let's start with the fact that Cordelia killed me not fifteen minutes ago with this.” She held up a very strange looking knife. It didn't look like any metal Wesley had ever seen before, and the blade and the handle were made of the same material, whatever it was.

“Looking damn healthy for a dead woman.” Gunn commented.

Lilah didn't say anything in reply. She extended her arm that was holding the muo-ping and pressed the knife up against it. She cut into the skin and traced a line down her forearm. She pulled the knife away and everyone saw the blue-lightning knit the wound closed. Everyone was rendered speechless, and Connor even stepped back a few paces in shock.

Fred was the first one to regain her powers of speech. “You...” She was looking at Lilah, then she turned to Wesley. “She...she's a-”

“Lightning Swordsman, like me?” He anticipated their next question. “Why didn't I tell you? Because frankly, it was none of your damn business. If Lilah had wanted you to know, she would've told you. And it certainly seems to be a good thing that neither she nor I told any of you, or when Cordelia tried to kill her she would have known to cut off her head rather than just stab her.”

Connor scoffed. “Of course you'd believe -” He was cut off by Wesley tightening his grip on the trigger, an ever so tiny 'click' sound almost...echoing through the otherwise silent room.

“I'm not interested in hearing your 'defense' of Cordelia. You're hardly capable of being impartial. I'd invite the rest of you to think about it – actually think about it – and imagine how many holes this fills in. If Cordelia is in fact possessed, doesn't that explain why she would, after what we all saw happen between her and Angel last year, suddenly sleep with his son? A boy who's diapers she changed?” Connor started to say something, but Wesley gestured lightly with the gun, still keeping it trained on the ever-frustrating boy. Wesley knew full well that if he hadn't had the enhanced reflexes his stolen quickening he wouldn't have been so sure of his ability to shoot Connor before he could attack Lilah or disarm him. As he considered that, Wesley mentally noted, despite the seriousness of the situation, that they needed to find an immortal for Lilah to behead and take the quickening of. She was advancing quickly enough swordsmanship – he suspected being an immortal just gave you a natural affinity for the work – and she was quite a good shot, but the speed and strength of a quickening was going to be a boost she'd need.

Lilah continued, “She stabbed me in the throat with this, and told me as I was dying that she'd let him out. And she's much stronger than she should be, even with those half-demon enhancements she got. And when I asked her what she was, she gave the whole cliché speech about how I couldn't possibly comprehend what she was.” Then she sighed. “Look, I found Angel's soul, it was in her room, and you don't have to take my word for it that Cordelia's not the one in charge of her own body right now. There are plenty of spells that you can cast to figure that our for yourselves. Or we could have her sing for Lorne, though I think when she wakes up she'll know the jig is up and drop the act.”

“She's right. There are numerous spells.”

Connor scoffed again. “You're going to trust magic -”

“Connor, shut up.” This time it was Gunn reprimanding the perpetual annoyance. “Magic is how you ended up in that Quor'Toth place to begin with, and how you got back for that matter. I don't know what I believe, but one way or another this can all get sorted out.”

“I think I know the book we can find a spell in.” Fred said, going around behind the desk to check the books.” 

“Something else to consider,” Wesley told them. “This would explain how Angel's drink got spiked and how Manjet got killed. 'Cordelia' did it.”

“But there wasn't any blood on her clothes. There was a hell of a lot of blood all over that safe room. You don't spill that much without getting some on you.”

“Who says she had to be wearing her clothes when she killed him?” Lilah pointed out. Connor looked about to say something again, and before anyone could do anything, Lilah whacked him on the side of the head with the hilt of the knife. Connor collapsed to the ground. “He wasn't going to just stand there and let us keep suspecting his precious Cordelia or do anything to her to prove it.”

Lorne didn't look overly thrilled by everything that had just happened – quite the opposite – but from a look that passed across his face for a split second, he definitely didn't mind Connor getting whacked. Not surprising, given the way the insufferable hellspawn acted around the empath demon. “Sing a little for me.” He told her. “That should help settle this.”  _ I should've thought of that... _ Wesley berated himself. Lilah rolled her eyes, but started to hum a few bars. Lorne held up a hand within moments. “Okay, that's enough.” He said, visibly wincing and looking away. “She's telling the truth. Our Cordy definitely killed her. And wasn't  _ that _ pleasant to read in her aura.” 

“Okay, I believe.” Gunn said. “So now what do we do? Can we just open the muo-ping and the soul goes back into our boy? And assuming Cordelia just hasn't chosen to go evil and isn't really in control, how do we get whatevers in there out of her?”

“Just opening the muo-ping would work if we had Angelus tied down and immobilized right next to it. The odds of actually capturing Angelus alive are minimal, I'd say, however. Our best bet would be to perform the ensouling spell, as was used on him twice before – the first time when he was cursed, and five years ago, in Sunnydale. More specifically, we'd likely need Willow Rosenberg. She's the only person alive who has cast it successfully, and I know for a fact that none of us have the power to cast it. We'll need to call her. The spell can be cast regardless of the distance between the caster and Angelus.”

Fred came back with the spell. “This one should do the trick. We have everything we need for the spell here, we just need to get it all set up.

It didn't take long – lighting candles and setting them up in the proper pattern around Cordelia, then sprinkling specific herbs on each candle. Finally, the chanting.

The spell would extinguish all the candles at once if the subject was possessed by something. The more powerful the release of energy that extinguished the candles, the more powerful the possessor.

When a massive backlash literally exploded the candles and sent them all to their feet, they had their answer.

“We're going to need Miss Rosenberg for more than just the ensouling spell.” Wesley said. “I'll make the call.”


	16. Fixing Things

**Disclaimer:** I do not own it. 

Thanks to my Beta, Oxnate.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 16: Fixing Things

The warehouse Emil did his business out of was normally a dimly lit affair, filled with crates and boxes scattered all over the place, arranged in such a way that gave ample cover during any sort of fight, and in general, wasn't the most tactically secure of arrangements. Emil obviously was okay with it – part of the effect. Wesley had to admit, when you combined the décor, such as it was, with his 'word of mouth advertising' speech...well, it had a certain...effect.

But now...now it was a great deal better lit, and arranged so that there was nothing but wide open space in the center of the warehouse. The boxes and crates were stacked around the edges, rather than in the middle like before. Emil was sitting down at a table, flanked by two guards, while Wesley stood across a table from him, the anti-tank weapon he'd ordered sitting on said table.

“Exactly as you ordered,” Emil told him. Wesley didn't respond as he quietly looked over the weapon, checking that it at least **looked** like it was in complete working order. It did, and, as it stood, Emil had never before sold him shoddy merchandise. But, this was far too important to take chances.

Wesley looked up from the weapon. “And you're sure it's in complete working order?” He narrowed his eyes. “If you're trying to sell me shoddy-”

Emil spread his hands, “Please, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. I have a reputation to maintain. Besides, in my business, I've found that there are several underlying, fundamental rules. One of the most important ones is that you should never cheat someone you've previously sold a large number of functioning firearms and explosives. The other weapons I've sold you worked just fine, didn't they?”

That was certainly true. And Emil did make a good point. Wesley reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Emil, who opened it and pulled out the contents. A stack of hundreds. All money withdrawn from Alfonso's accounts. The arms dealer thumbed through the bills, counting them. Finally, he looked up. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.”

_I wish I could say the same._ Wesley didn't vocalize, grabbing the weapon and lifting it up, preparing to leave. “Likewise, Emil.” 

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS 

The Cage that had been originally set up – on Angel's order – to contain Angel/Angelus had been put to another purpose. One that no one had expected.

Lilah looked up from the tome she was pouring over. After calling Willow Rosenberg, Wesley had gotten a call from his arms dealer friend. The weapon he'd bought in the hopes of defeating the Beast with it had finally arrived. In the meantime, she and the Texas Twig were trying to find out if they could get more information on whoever or whatever it was that was possessing Saint Cordelia and how it was tied to the Beast. Unfortunately, they were getting approximately nowhere. She pinched the bridge of her nose and looked at the monitor showing the basement.

'Cordelia' was pacing the length of her cell irritatedly, drumming her fingers against the side of her leg. Upon waking up and finding herself in the cell in the basement next to an unconscious Connor, whatever it was calling the shot inside the Vision-Girl had apparently decided that the jig was up. She'd made no attempt to act like she was really Cordelia, or protest her innocence. She'd said nothing, actually.

Connor, on the other hand, hadn't taken his imprisonment nearly as gracefully. He'd responded to waking up in a cell – about fifteen minutes after Cordelia - by launching himself at the steel bars of the cage and rattling at them like a rabid monkey, doing his level best – and so deliciously failing – to bend or break them. After a few minutes of that, Gunn had gotten sick of it and gone down with the dart gun, and shot Connor three times. Even with his advanced metabolism, he wasn't going to recover from enough tranquilizer to knock out a horse for a good long while. Which suited Lilah just fine.

The door opened, and Wesley walked in, drawing Lilah's attention away from the monitor. She saw what Wesley was carrying, which he out down on the circular-sofa in the center of the lobby. “So that's it, then?” She asked rhetorically. “Think it'll work?”

“It turned a demon that was supposed to be invincible into to so many tiny pieces of blue flesh.” Wesley replied. “Well, not this particular weapon, but you grasp my point. My hope is that we can at least do some noticeable damage to the Beast with it. But first and foremost, we need to get Angel and Cordelia back.” He gestured at the books. “Any luck?”

“No.” Fred said, coming out of the office, holding yet another book. “Nothing whatsoever...it would help if we had something more to go on than 'extremely powerful', but I'd be willing to bet that whoever or whatever it is controlling Cordelia was included in the same blanket wipe that got the Beast. Not that Lilah's extra-dimensional Rhinehardt's had anything useful either.” Her words weren't a dig at Lilah, rather just a statement of fact. “A traditional exorcism isn't going to be enough. I just hope Willow has enough...to...you know. Bring Cordelia back.”

“One way or another we'll win this.” Wesley said. “We always do.” Unsaid was _but not always without cost._ It wasn't really much of anything that needed to be said, when you got right down to it. Everyone here knew what costs could be coming down the line.

“Angel's soul still where we put it, this time?” Wesley asked. 

Lilah leaned down a little and pulled it out from underneath the front desk. “Its amazing how secure something can be when the mole in your organization is in a cage far away from what you're trying to protect.” She put the filled muo-ping on the top of the desk, the white mist of Angel's soul floating around it in, seeking a way out. “So, for the soul curse, do we need to break the muo-ping, or can we keep it in the jar?”

“I don't know at the moment,” Came a voice from the doorway, “But first and foremost you need a witch.” They all turned to look at the new arrival. Only two of the three of them had ever seen her before, but Lilah had seen the dossier on the woman who was certainly the most powerful witch in the Western Half of the United States, and probably the entire country, if not a bit more.

“Willow.” Wesley said first, followed shortly by Fred's. 

“Hi Willow!” She said happily. The witch walked down the steps towards them. 

“Hey Fred, it's good to see you.” She turned and got a good look at Wesley. “Oh, and it’s the  
Marlboro Man…” Willow started to babble. “Or at least, his extra stubbly, mentally unstable, insomniac first cousin…” Her voice trailed off as she realized what she was doing. “Oh, for the love of Hecate somebody stop me.”

Fred smiled and shook her head. “It's okay. I'm a yammerer from way back.”

“So this is Willow Rosenberg? I mean, I've seen your file, but I expected you to be taller.” Lilah said dryly. 

“And you're the evil lawyer.” Willow said, looking Lilah over. “I expected you to have horns and a tail.”

“I hate to disappoint. And I'm just the very morally ambiguous lawyer now.” Lilah said in reply. “Lorne has the horns covered, though. He should be around here somewhere. Where is he, anyway? ”

“Trying to figure out how Angelus fooled him after we tried to give him his soul back with the ritual 'Cordelia' had a 'vision' about.” Fred said. 

“Speaking of souls, who was it that helped Angel lose his? I mean, Buffy hasn't left Sunnydale any time recently.”

“That was me.” Wesley said, then realized how that sounded. Lilah and Fred both chuckled a little at his words, and Willow's eyes widened a bit. 

“Wesley? I didn't know Angel-”

Wesley cut her off. “No.” He said, firmly. “Not like that. A shaman removed it with a ritual...doing so, was, however my idea.”

“What would drive you to do something so...completely stupid?” Willow's confusion was evident on her face. “Even the – you back in Sunnydale wouldn't...” Her voice trailed off.

Wesley sighed. “At the time it seemed like out best option. We had a Shaman take his soul out and put it in a muo-ping.” He indicated the jar, which Willow approached and picked up carefully, looking at it closely. “I didn't realize that Cordelia was going to let Angelus out of his cage and steal the muo-ping and hide it in her rooms. If she hadn't killed Lilah, we would never have realized she had taken-”

“Wait,” Willow cut him off. “Let's start over. I mean, Cordelia – let him – stole, how could-” She turned to Lilah and pointed at her. “And you're looking pretty lively for a dead woman.”

_Not the first time I've heard that,_ Lilah thought to herself. It had been what...three hours, at most, since Gunn had said something very similar. “Have you ever heard of the Lightning Swordsmen?”

“Yes.” It dawned on Willow. “Oh! Oh! So you're a-”

“Yes.” Lilah said. 

“We both are, actually.” Wesley noted. “That's neither here nor there. Its not actually Cordelia running her own body.”

“Possessed?”

“Very much so. By something more powerful than I care to imagine. When you're done with the ensouling ritual...we need to get whatever it is inside Cordelia out. I suspect that it is, at the end of the day, responsible for the rain of fire and the blotting out of the sun – that its behind the creature that performed those acts, anyway.”

“That is a big deal.” Willow said. She held up the Muo-ping. “As long as Angel's soul is in this, I can't use the ensouling ritual. The soul needs to be back in the afterlife so I can call it here through the Orb of Thesulah before sending it back on to its original body – Angel's. If we open this, or break it, will the soul move on?”

“As I understand it, as long as the original body isn't rather close – in which case it would just go right in – then yes.” Wesley replied. “We have all the ingredients you'd need for the spell, apart from an Orb of Thesulah-”

“But I said I'd bring one, and I did. I've been keeping it on hand for a while now, ever since the Magic Box got one in stock. Better safe than sorry with Angel's soul being...so easily misplace-able.” She reached into her bag and took it out. Then she made to open the muo-ping, but stopped looking at Wesley. He nodded. She opened the jar, and the white mist of the soul slowly drifted out. Unable to find its home, its body, the mist slowly dissipated, as the soul faded into the afterlife.

“He won't be able to tell you're doing the spell while you're doing it, right? Show up here? Try and stop it?” Fred asked.

“He wasn't able to last time.” Willow said. “I can't imagine why he'd be able to this time.”

Wesley nodded. He looked over at Gunn. “Keep an eye on 'Cordelia' and Connor. Fred, you and Lorne can help Willow prepare for and perform the ritual. Lilah and I will start tracking down Angelus. If we leave Angel alone too long in the immediate aftermath of his soul's return, he may well get suicidal, and that is not what we need.”

“Alright.” Fred nodded. She looked at Willow. “I'll get Lorne, and then you can tell us what you need done.” Willow nodded, and Fred went up the stairs to find the Pylean. 

“So where do we want to start to go about finding Angel?” Lilah asked.

“I don't know.” Wesley checked to make sure his collapsible sword was still attached firmly. “I suspect he might find us, if we make noise about looking for him. We start with a demon bar and go from there, I guess.”

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

“Two Lightning Swordsmen coming to catch little old me?” Angelus said an hour later. Wesley and Lilah had both tracked him down to this old warehouse – though he hadn't been trying that hard to hide that he was here, when you got right down to it. “I'm flattered. Really.” He swung his broadsword idly in one hand. “But now that I have this, well, you'll both be dead very soon.”

“It must burn, doesn't it, Angelus?” Lilah said, extending her collapsible sword. “We get all the benefits of being a vampire without almost any of the downsides – no need for blood, stakes, crosses and fire do nothing to us, sunlight just means we can get a nice tan.” She chuckled darkly. “About the only think that we share is an aversion to decapitation, but then, so do humans.”

“You talk too much, Lilah. Always did.” He lunged at her with the sword, and Lilah blocked it. Wesley stepped in behind him – they'd already been on both sides of the vampire – and swung, aiming to wound, but Angelus sidestepped the blow and turned, swinging at Wesley, who in turned avoided the blow.

“Why do I get the impression you two just aren't trying?” Angelus asked after several minutes of combat. “I mean, I'm good, but you two aren't even aiming at my neck!” He laughed, ducking under an attack from Lilah. “Don't tell me you're both still under the delusion that you can bring Angel back.” He side-stepped a swing from Wesley and slashed out at the other man, who barely avoided getting cut across the arm. “Because you don't even have the soul!” He said with a laugh.

“Actually, Angelus,” Lilah noted with a smirk, “we do have your soul. And we have someone to put it back too – and old friend of yours. Red hair, prone to babbling,” She chuckled as Angelus swung at her, furious at the implications of her words. Lilah blocked the swing, then returned the favor.

“You're lying!” Angelus insisted. “If you have the soul, why are you even here!?”

“Because, Angel might-” Wesley began, but his voice trailed off as he saw Angelus put his sword to his neck.

“I'd rather be dead than let soul-boy take over again.” He pulled back the sword, it fell towards his neck-

A loud bang rang out, and a bullet passed through the back of Angelus's head. The vampire collapsed to the ground, the sword dropping nervelessly from his hand. Wesley nodded at it. “We'd best make sure that he can't get to that when he comes to.” He said, as he holstered his gun. Lilah nodded and grabbed the the weapon, tossing it to the side, and it clattered a few moments later, landing some distance away in another part of the warehouse.

Angelus's eyes snapped open, but before he could get up, they began to glow a bright orange.

“Is this-?”

“I believe so, according to what Buffy Summers told Giles.” Wesley replied. Angel's body convulsed for several minutes, as if fighting itself. Then the glow faded. Angel was back.

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

'Cordelia' stopped pacing the length of her cell. She could feel it. Angelus was gone. Angel was back. _Fuck._ She'd held out against playing her trump card this long, but if the vampire with a soul was back in play...

Her eyes snapped open. “Skip.” She said softly. The volume of her words didn't matter, she knew. Her word would travel across dimensions, until it reached the person she wanted it to reach. And then...then he'd show up and ensure her ultimate victory.

Moments after her words, Willow walked down the stairs. “Oh look, the Witch has arrived. Come to visit little old me. At least you aren't shopping from the softer-side of Sears anymore, Willow.”

“You're not Cordelia.” Willow said softly. “Stop pretending you are.”

“Oh, but I'm wearing her body.” 'Cordelia' replied. “And I've got all her memories. And face it, Cordelia doesn't live here anymore. I'm the closest any of you will ever get to her, now.”

“I refuse to believe that.” Willow replied. She closed her eyes a moment, and when they re-opened, they were solid black. “I will get you out of Cordy.”

'Cordelia' shivered' “Oooh, scary. Feel free to try. Tell me how it goes.”

Willow reached out with her senses, trying to get a handle on the...thing that was inside Cordelia. It didn't feel like a demon...it felt...almost...purer...but with a trace of malevolence that certainly didn't match with that seeming purity. Then...there was...Willow's head snapped back, in part surprise, in part backlash from whatever was inside Cordelia. The surprise was fairly reasonable, given that she'd just found out that 'Cordelia' was pregnant. And...there was some connection between...something clicked in her mind.

'Cordelia' smirked. “Too much for you?”

“Definitely not, buster.” Willow replied. “I'll be back.” If she was right...there were spells for just this kind of situation...well, actually, not for _this_ situation, per se... She turned from the cage and went upstairs. 

“Did any of you know that Cordelia was...was pregnant?” Willow ask Fred, Gunn and Lorne.

“She- what?” Lorne started. 

“But she hasn't-” Fred started, then cut herself off.

“Now that is all _kinds_ of wrong.” Gunn exclaimed, as if finishing a thought.

“Okay...someone want to fill me in?” Willow begged.

The three of them looked at eachother, then finally Fred decided to answer her question. “Cordelia...though it probably wasn't actually Cordelia running things then...I guess...whatever it is...she...it...slept with Connor.”

“Connor as in, Angel's _son_ Connor?” 

Gunn nodded. “He wasn't really in a place willing to hear even the possibility that Cordelia could be possessed...that's why he's down there in the cage, specifically.”

“Well...when I was...searching, I guess would be the best way for you to understand it, for the thing possessing her...she's pregnant with it. It's using Cordelia as a way to...its going to give birth to itself...” Willow said.

“You got that right.” A soft and amicable-sounding voice said from the doorway. They all turned to see this new arrival...who had an appearance was totally incongruous with his voice.

It was quite clearly a demon, and it was armored like a tank. In fact, the demon looked not so much like a living creature as a large, vaguely exoskeleton-like, seemingly metal suit of armor. If not for the face and non-helmet like head... “Hi.” The demon said. “The name's Skip.” He walked towards them.

The name immediately rang a bell with Fred, Gunn and Lorne. 

“Well thank goodness the Powers that Be had finally decided to give us a _hand._ ” Lorne said first.

“Something like that.” Skip replied as he continued to walk towards them.

“Who is this?” Willow asked, more curiosity than suspicion in her voice – after all, the others seemed to trust him.

“He's Skip.” Gunn told her. “A demon that works for the Powers that Be – whatever the hell they are, they certainly seem to be...good guys,” He said, almost reluctantly. “Angel and Cordy – the real Cordy – have both met him, separately. They told us about him.”

“Oh. So definitely here to help us.”

“Not exactly.” Skip said, his tone unchanged. He was right there in front of the group now. “See, I've had a change of employment these days.” He swung out with his fist – faster than one might thing – catching Lorne in the stomach and sending the empath demon flying. He caught Fred with a backhanded swipe, while Gunn reacted instinctively. Grabbing his axe from behind the desk, he swung it, hard, at the attacking demon.

The man might as well have hit Skip with a pointed stick for all the good it did. The metal demon smirked cruelly. “Come on. Do I _look_ like something that would work against?” With another forceful punch, he sent Gunn flying across the lobby as well, leaving no one between himself and Willow. “Just you and me now Red.”

“You work for that... _thing_ that's inside of Cordelia.” Willow said definitely, marshaling the magics in her mind.

“Well, gee.” Skip countered. “I'll give you that – you sure can state the obvious. The boss isn't very fond of the idea of being gotten rid of before your cheerleader friend can fulfill her role.” He swung with another punch, but the witch wasn't going to go down so easily. She thrust out her hand, her eyes going black again and sent a blast of magical force into the demon, sending him flying backwards until he crashed into, and then through the front doors of the hotel.

“If your boss is sending you to get rid of me, then she must be afraid of what I can do, which means that it will be possible for me to get whoever or whatever it is **out** of Cordelia.” 

Wesley, Angel and Lilah then, just happened to choose to arrive in the courtyard just as Skip came crashing into it. They two Immortals had managed to prevent Angel from killing himself in the short time after everything came back to him, and while Angel was still a little out of it and more broody than normal – which was saying something, he was back. They hadn't actually gotten around to telling him about Cordelia.

“Skip?”

The demon picked himself up. “Oh, hey Angel.” Without warning, Skip threw a punch at the vampire, sending him flying into a a flower bed. Wesley and Lilah reacted by extending their swords, and attacking Skip. Unfortunately, it did the same as Gunn's axe. Nothing. Skip sent them both flying back with a sweep of his arm, then turned and walked back into the Hotel. _Now I'm really pissed._

Willow greeted his return with a fireball. Her eyes remained black, but, her hair red. Willow was holding back, decidedly, but she still had plenty of power to draw on even without going all black-haired and vein-y. The fire hit Skip, sending him staggering back a bit, but no he had no visible injuries. Angel was the first up from the three outside. He had no idea what possible reason Skip had for attacking him now – sure they'd fought when they'd last met, but that was only because of Billy...who was dead now.

Regardless of why Skip was attacking, he was attacking. Angel leapt onto the back of the demon, punching at him. He was thrown off again, but was back up on his feet in an instant. The vampire and the demon fought for several minutes, Willow throwing several fireballs – which seemed like they might be having a cumulative effect – during the fight. Wesley and Lilah didn't get involved – there really wasn't an opening for either of them to do anything. Instead, they went to the other three. Fred, Gunn and Lorne were all injured –Gunn and Lorne both had at least one fractured rib, Fred had actually lost a tooth and was bleeding from several cuts on the side of her face. 

Angel was the one losing in the fight against Skip, but he was, more importantly, not giving up. A lucky swing got his hand on the vaguely antennae-like protrusions coming out of Skip's head. He yanked down and ripped it off, surprising even himself with how easy it was. Skip staggered back, groaning in pain. There was a hole in the demon's head now. Angel looked at the metal in his hand, the hole, and the fact that Skip was distracted. With another lunge, he drove the antennae into Skip's head. The demon fell to the ground.

“Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Angel demanded, as Willow's eyes returned to normal and Wesley and Lilah helped Lorne – who had returned to consciousness – to his feet.

“That demon – Skip. He was working...working for the thing that's possessing Cordelia, that's trying to-”

Angel cut her off. “Wait a minute! Cordelia's possessed!? What the hell are you-”

“We were getting to that.” Wesley replied.

“Who do you think stabbed me?” Lilah asked. “She stabbed me right before Angelus saw me reviving. It wasn't Cordelia in control when she slept with Connor.”

“And Connor got her pregnant,” Willow said, “apparently. Whatever...it is...I think its trying to get into this world directly by

Angel cut her off again. “Wait a minute. Cordelia's _pregnant!?_ By Connor?!”

**Author's Note:** Next time, on Dead Man Walking

_Cordelia has been freed from her possession, but will she be able to keep her sanity intact at all the horrors her body was used to commit? And the Beast is still roaming free while the sun remains blotted out, but now it is without a master. Will Wesley's plan kill it? And what's this about something called 'The First' trying to eliminate the Slayer Line?_


	17. Wrapping Up

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Highlander or Angel the Series

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 17: Wrapping Up

“So what exactly is the spell supposed to do?” Angel asked, as Willow started to set things up. He was still in a bit of shock over the whole 'my son got the woman I love pregnant' thing, but he was getting around – thought not exactly past – it.

“Essentially?” Willow replied. “Its an abortion spell. Whatever it is that's possessing Cordelia is way too powerful for me to simply throw out with any conventional methods. From what I can tell, if 'Cordelia' manages to give birth, it won't be a baby that comes out. It will be whatever it is that's running the show in there. It will give birth to its true form, whatever that is. But, in order for that to happen, it has entwined itself with the baby, and that has made it vulnerable.” She sighed. “Its the only way.”

“But Cordy will be free?” Angel pressed. “She'll be okay?”

“She'll be free and...mostly okay.” Willow said hesitantly. 

“Mostly okay?” Angel demanded suspiciously. “What the hell does that mean?”

“The spell was designed as punishment for women who got pregnant out of wedlock.” Willow answered softly. “Its not a pleasant experience, and it will hurt, a lot. But she'll make it through alive and free.”

“How much longer will it take to get everything set up?” Wesley asked. 

“About an hour,” the witch replied. “Including the time getting the magic laid out properly, and setting up the circle so 'Cordelia' can't escape while I'm casting the spell.”

Wesley nodded. “Alright.” Then he sighed. “I wish we'd managed to keep Skip alive.”

“I'm not apologizing for killing him.” Angel countered.

“I wasn't asking you to.” Wesley replied. “But information is power. We're still going to have the Beast to contend with, and for all we know, there are even worse things coming that might be related to all this. “We haven't necessarily hit the high point of the yearly crisis. Its too early in the year for us to be in the clear just yet.” He sighed again. “I'm going to go and and speak to 'Cordelia'. Maybe it will be in a talkative mood.” He went down the stairs into the basement.

He was gratified to see that Connor was still unconscious – well, after waking up earlier and having to be tranquilized again. Gunn, despite having taken a beating from Skip, was determined to be useful, so he was sitting in a chair by the cage, tranquilizer gun in his hands. Wesley nodded towards the other man, who nodded back. 

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce graces me with his presence.” 'Cordelia' said drying from within the cage, arms crossed in front of her. “Oh, wait!” She said apologetically. “I lie. You're not a Wyndam-Pryce after all, are you?”

Wesley ignored her, “What should I call you? I can't really keep calling you 'Cordelia'. It'll get confusing once you're out of her and back to wherever you started from.”

'Cordelia' didn't respond to the question. “You think you've won, don't you? All of you.” She gestured in a circle, as if to encompass everyone in the hotel. “So self-congratulatory, patting yourselves on the back like you've accomplished something meaningful. Like you've saved the world, or done some great favor for man kind.” She scoffed, then sneered. “Pathetic.”

“This coming from the one that is trapped inside the cage, after her plans were all uncovered and ruined. We have won. Willow will remove you from Cordelia within the hour. Your minion Skip is dead, and the Beast will soon follow it.”

“Willow doesn't have the power to get rid of me.” She scoffed. “And even if she did get me out of this pathetic girl, and even if you did manage to kill a demon that is unkillable...” Now she chuckled. “It won't matter. I'm not the worst thing coming down the line for humanity. There's something a hell of a lot worse than me, worse than the Beast, coming. I could've stopped it, but now...you're all doomed. There's nothing you can do to stop what's coming. Unless you're willing to let me out.”

Wesley rolled his eyes. “I'm hardly convinced that just letting you leave your cage is a good idea.” He replied. “I think I've learned my lesson about letting evil out to help in the fight against some other kind of evil.” He added dryly. “But tell me more about this...impending evil. What is it? What does it want? When and where is it going to arrive?”

“Why?” 'Cordelia' said though a laugh. “Its not as if you're going to let me out if I cooperate, or reduce my sentence. You're planning on throwing me out of Cordelia within the hour, regardless of whether or not I tell you. So what incentive do I have to help you at all?”

“If, as you say, we have no hope of being able to stop it, to defeat it...then giving us information won't help us. Not in the least. So at least you'll get to watch us squirm.”

'Cordelia' scoffed yet again. “Temping.” She shook her head. “But I'm not a cliched movie villain. I'm not going to stand here and have a dramatic monologue about my maniacal plans, or about what's coming.” She smirked again. “But let's get back to you. You call yourself Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. But Immortals aren't born. Roger Wyndam-Pryce isn't your father. You don't have a father. And really...you don't come from anywhere. Well, you come from...nowhere really...and you belong approximately...nowhere, then don't you?”

Wesley was unfazed. He'd already considered all those things before. He found them to be irrelevant to his life, his situation. He was who he was. He was Immortal. Agonizing about it, about meaningless philosophical precepts was only going to drive him crazy – or at least more so than he already was. “Are you quite finished? Will you be getting to some sort of point soon, or shall I just take a nap until you're done?”

“Have you talked to daddy dearest lately? I mean, he obviously knows he's not really your father, but have you told him that you're immortal?” She looked him over a moment. “You haven't, have you?” She tsked him for a moment. “Hardly the dutiful son. Which...well, I guess its appropriate, since you're really no one's son.”

“Roger Wyndam-Pryce is utterly irreverent to me. His opinions don't matter in the least, and neither does his approval or lack thereof.” He'd said it mostly because that was what you said in these kinds of situations, but as he said it, he realized it was true. Completely and utterly true. After living his whole life under the shadow of his father, first under his father's control, then simply under his influence, then still...with his father hanging over him. He had carried Roger Wyndam-Pryce with him ever since he'd been fired, been severed from the Council. It was time to stop doing that. He was free. Free of the man he'd spent so much of his life calling father. Free of Roger Wyndam-Pryce.

“Well then, its a good thing he's dead, isn't he?” 'Cordelia' said cheerfully. 

Wesley shook his head. “Nice try. My father is alive and well.”

'Cordelia' wagged a finger. “Ah, ah, ah. You shouldn't talk about things about which you have no idea. How do you know he's fine? You haven't spoken to him recently. Have you been keeping up with the news from the merry old England, recently?” She made a terrible – and deliberately so – attempt at a British accent with the last sentence. 

“Been a little busy with the various things you've been pulling. And if Roger Wyndam-Pryce is really dead, good riddance.” He shrugged. “And I believe, that is that.” He turned. 

As he walked towards the stairs, Gunn asked. “You really feel that way about your father? Was he really that bad?”

“Worse.” Wesley replied, as he walked up the stairs. “Much Worse.” He nodded to Willow and Angel, and went upstairs to check on Lorne and Fred. Lilah was stuck playing nursemaid to the both of them, given that everyone else was either occupied or, like Angel, wouldn't be able to concentrate.

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

Angel had been exiled out of the lobby of his own hotel.

It was his fault, really. He was worried. Worried about Cordelia, worried about his son – because at the end of the day, whatever happened, whatever Connor did, whatever **he** did, Connor was his son - worried about the Beast...he'd been pacing back and forth, fidgeting distractingly. Finally Willow had had enough.

“You're distracting me, Angel.” She'd told him,. “Either stop pacing and stay still, or leave the room. I can hardly work with you hovering over my shoulder like this anyway. I'll call for you and everyone else when I'm ready to start the spell.”

And so, at Willow's insistence, he was back in his room, brooding. 

“Hello, Rat Breath.” Angel heard an all too familiar voice say behind him. “I can't believe it! You're brooding again.” The vampire didn't need to turn around to know who was talking, but he did anyway. As he looked at the balance demon, an idle thought crossed his mind. _Cordelia would have...a lot...to say about his outfit, I'm sure._

“So the Powers that Be have decided to get involved finally. I'm amazed.” He said somewhat uncharacteristically, but the bitterness in his tone was understandable. “I thought you'd left us out to dry.”

Whistler shook his head. “No. Never. But there are rules about this sort of thing, Angel. Besides, the Powers have been busy this year – they've not been in a position to help before now.”

“Rules? Who the hell makes these rules? And what on Earth are you talking about? Busy? What the hell could they be doing that's so important they couldn't help us at all?! The Sun has been blotted out, and Cordelia – my link to the Powers, to your bosses – has been possessed by some kind of demon-”

Whistler interrupted his rant, “She's not possessed by a demon, Angel.” The balance demon didn't bother answering the first question. To do so would be to break some of the rules. “She's possessed by a rogue Power.”

It took all of Angel's control to keep him from lunging out and attacking Whistler when he heard that. “One of your bosses is responsible for all this?! For what's happening to Cordy?!” He nearly yelled.

“I said _rogue Power,_ Rat Breath.” Whistler corrected. “And she wasn't acting alone. The rest of the Powers have been busy getting their house in order after the chaos she caused. Remember the First Evil?”

_Of course I do,_ Angel thought to himself, _it tried to make me kill Buffy, nearly drove me to suicide..._ “Yes. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything.” Whistler said. “The First Evil has a plan to eliminate all human life and the only thing standing in his way is your blonde ex-girlfriend and her little gang of friends. Understandably, perhaps, some of the Powers got worried that she wouldn't be enough. So they conspired to do all this. Making Cordelia half-demon, sending Connor to Quor'Toth, having Connor come back at age 18, Cordelia ascending, descending, the Beast, the Rain of Fire, the death of the Ra-Tet, the blotting out of the Sun. All of it.”

“What for?!” Angel demanded.

“To allow the Power that would descend inside Cordelia to manifest in a physical form here on Earth, technically bypassing the rules. And their plan would work – the First Evil would be defeated. At the cost of Free Will, and a dozen human lives a day. Once the rest of the Powers figured out what was going on, they did what they could – the reason why Cordelia came down without her memories was because that was the only way to keep the Power possessing her from taking control. When you restored her memories, you let the Power take control. You couldn't have known. But now that you're finally about to wrap things up on this end by expelling the Power from Cordelia and killing the Beast, you need to know what's coming next. Buffy is going to need your help. And the help of your team. When this is done, you need to go to Sunnydale.”

“What is the First Evil doing there? What's going on?”

Whistler shook his head. “I'm not allowed to tell you anything else.” He said. “The witch can tell you more. Ask her once your Vision Girl is free.” Without any sound, effects or other fanfare, Whistler vanished. One moment he was there, the next moment she was done.

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

Willow's eyes were black again. 

Cordelia was chained to a chair in the center of a circle of chalk and censers burning at least a dozen different kinds of incense. The brunette woman was convulsing, as Willow chanted the spell, channeling power through herself, her hands outstretched in Cordelia's direction.

“It's fighting me.” She ground out slowly. _And it's strong._ She thought to herself. The spell should've only taken a few minutes, but they were already at fifteen minutes. A weaker witch would've had to give up by now, but not Willow. _It's strong._ “But I'm stronger!” She said loudly, forcing another surge of power through her and into the spell.

Cordelia's convulsions increased, and then she cried out in pain. Involuntarily, Angel made to move towards her, but Lilah pulled him back. “Don't disrupt the circle.” Angel shook off her hand, but stayed back. Willow continued to channel the spell. Cordelia's screams were growing in intensity and frequency, but Willow kept it going. 

Finally, the chanting reaching a crescendo, Willow's hair began to turn black, starting at the tips, and then, it happened. Cordelia’s head was thrown back and her mouth was opened. A white light/mist was expelled from her mouth and nose, flying out at high speed. The white mist/light formed into something that vaguely resembled a tentacled creature, but before it could do anything another scream came, and this time from the mist/light creature itself. It was pulled upwards, fading away into nothingness, vanishing by the time it reached the ceiling.

Cordelia's head slumped forward. “She's free.” Willow said, staggering back, almost collapsing to the ground. Wesley, who happened to be closest, caught her and helped back to standing up straight. 

Cordelia's head snapped up. Her eyes opened, and she immediately pulled against the chains. “She's gone! Now get these things off me!” She insisted. Angel looked at Willow, who nodded. 

“Its Cordy.”

“Of course its me! You only made me feel like I was dying as part of that spell!” Then she took a breath, and slowed her words. “Thank you...I...” Her voice broke a moment, then “You can't imagine what...hell that bitch put me through. Willow...thank you.” The truthfulness of the sincerity in her voice was not alien coming from Cordelia, but it was a rare thing, even if she had grown since her days as 'Queen C'. 

Angel went over and unlocked the chains. He hugged Cordelia, who returned the hug. When he was done, he looked up at Willow. “You restored my soul, and saved Cordelia. If there is ever...ever anything I can do to repay you...

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

It was several hours later. Cordelia was free, but despite her initial facade of strength, there was a lot she had to deal with. Like with Angel feeling guilt for things Angelus had done, even though such things were categorically not his fault, Cordelia felt guilty for all the deaths her body had been used to cause. She was completely disgusted by the fact that she had slept with Connor, and...it was a lot to deal with. She had taken over keeping an eye on Fred and Lorne, to distract her. This left Willow, Gunn, Wesley, Lilah, Angel and Connor in the library.

It had taken some doing, but Cordelia had managed to convince Connor of the truth, and now Angel's hellspawn was brimming with anger at how he'd been used. So he was ready and willing to finish the job and do whatever he needed to do to help with the killing of the Beast.

“Willow, is the First Evil back in Sunnydale?” The witch was still exhausted from the spell, sitting slumped back in a chair. 

“Yes...how did you...”

“Whistler stopped by.” Angel said, “While you were prepping the spell. He said that the First Evil was doing something in Sunnydale.”

“Whistler? The First Evil? Who are they?” Connor asked.

“What he said.” Gunn chimed in. 

“Whistler is a messenger for the Powers that Be. And the First Evil is just like the name sounds,” Lilah said before Wesley or Angel could. “The first incarnation of evil in existence. It's immeasurably old and powerful, but cannot manifest in a corporeal form here on Earth. The Senior Partners really, really don't like it. It usually doesn't do much – it can't use what power it has much at all. Its subtle, trying to influence things as best as it can. But it doesn't do much actively.”

“It does now.” Willow said. “Its trying to exterminate the entire Slayer Line by killing all of the potentials. They've been trickling into Sunnydale, with what's left of the Council doing what it can to locate them and get them to Sunnydale.”

“What's _left_ of the Council?” Wesley asked, at a loss. “What do you mean?”

Willow didn't say anything, then, “The First...well, its agents, the Harbingers...blew up the Council's headquarters...most of the Council, and all the leaders had gathered there...no survivors.”

Wesley staggered back a bit. He'd been willing to accept the possibility that his father was dead after 'Cordelia' had said so. He'd been planning on checking on that later...but the entire Council. For all its flaws...it was the _Council._ For centuries...a thousand years...he had nothing to say to that. 

“We're...we're in a mess. The First's minions are...they're keep pressing in...it has some kind of super vampire, a Turok-Han. Buffy killed it, but the First is trying to get more. The potentials...we're doing what we can...they're not Slayers. We could certainly use your help.” She sounded completely exhausted whens she said that.

Wesley and Angel looked at eachother. Angel spoke first. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

Wesley nodded “Faith.”

“Faith? The crazy Slayer that tortured you and got sent to prison for murder?” Gunn asked. That wasn't something you didn't hear about.

“Yes.” Wesley said.. He chuckled darkly. “Its not as if she can do it to me again, and I think she may well have been sincere in her desire for redemption. I don't like it, but if what Willow is saying is true, we'll need all the help we can get. I hardly suspect that the First is going to leave Faith alone as it is. If he's trying to eliminate the entire Slayer Line....”

“One problem though,” Willow said. “Faith is in prison...”

Lilah shook her head. “That's not a problem at all. Wolfram and Hart – since I haven't pointed out to them that I technically don't and never did work for them yet – has had a policy in place for getting her out for a while now, from back when we tried to get her to kill you, Angel. We promised we'd get her cleared. I can still pull that off. I can get her released on temporary parole in a day or so, and cleared in a week, at most.”

“There's still the issue of the Beast to deal with.” Wesley said. “Lilah, see what you can do about getting the whole thing started. The sooner we can get Faith out of there, the faster we can head to Sunnydale. Gunn, stay here, mind the fort. Angel, Connor and I will finish off the Beast.” He grabbed the anti-tank weapon he'd bought from Emil.

Gunn nodded. “Alright.” He wanted to go with them, but he knew he was still too banged up for it. 

“I'll get on it.” Lilah said.

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It took them another hour to find the Beast. It had taken to dwelling in a warehouse, presumably waiting for more orders. Angel went in first. Connor sneaked in quietly, and Wesley followed suit as best as he could, though he was far worse than Angel or his son.

“Have you finally chosen to take me on my offer, Angelus?” The Beast asked softly.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Angel said, “But I'm not Angelus.” He hefted his sword. “Your master is gone – Cordelia's been freed. And I'm here to kill you.” He spun the blade. 

The Beast chuckled. “You're lying. My master is invincible. And that blade cannot harm me.”

“Maybe not. But I have an idea of what can. Wes?”

Wesley stepped forward out of the shadows, the launcher on his shoulder. The Beast, to his credit, did not act like the Judge had in a similar situation and stand there dumbly. It knew full well and began to move. Wesley had three shots. He had to make them count. Faster than one would expect, it began to dodge to the right as Wesley pulled the lever, firing the first rocket. It sailed past the Beast and into a crate. The Explosion lit the warehouse up, and the Beast laughed.

_Fucking hell._ Wesley hurriedly pulled the lever again, prepping the weapon again. The Beast smirked and charged towards him, but weaving back and forth to make it hard to target. But Wesley did not have almost freakishly high hand-eye coordination for nothing. He could anticipate and then...he pulled the lever again, and the Beast fairly flew backwards a dozen feet, its chest filled with cracks, something oozing out. Before it had a chance to recover, Wesley fired again.

The Beast's chest was a bloody ruin, black blood dripping down its torso onto the floor. And yet it still stood.

Angel felt a sense of futility flood through him. The Beast was still alive. Then he saw it. The damage to its chest had exposed its heart – or some kind of organ... He lifted his sword and charged at it, as Connor leapt at it, yelling furiously.

The three fought for several minutes. The Beast continued to move, but slower, less effectively. But still, it was the Beast. It was...and then Angel did it.

Ducking under another swing from the Beast's mighty fist, Angel thrust the sword upward, into the Beast's organs.

The demon's eyes glowed, and then its head was thrown back. Light flew out of its mouth as it began to collapse to the ground. The orb of blackness that had covered the sun finally faded, and sunlight began to stream in through grimy windows into the warehouse and across Los Angeles.

The Sun was back.

**Next Time, on Dead Man Walking:** _The Beast has been killed, and the crisis in L.A. resolved. But for Wesley, Lilah and the A.I. Team, things are just getting started. For something even worse is going down on the Hellmouth. Even with all of them, and even with Faith thrown in, does Buffy really stand a chance against the first evil to ever exist? And is that another Immortal on the Hellmouth?_


	18. Return to the Hellmouth

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it. Move along now.

Thanks to my Beta, Oxnate.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 18: Return to the Hellmouth

When Faith Lehane was told that she was possibly going to be paroled, her first reaction was total surprise. She had murdered two people and added a whole number of other crimes – theft, kidnapping, assault, and worse – to her list. And it had only been three years – no - less than that, even. Admittedly, Faith was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she hadn't complained, but still, she was surprised as hell.

Then she'd been told that she was going to meet with her lawyer first and she was even more surprised, but...the pieces were starting to come together. She didn't have a lawyer, and since she'd pleaded guilty to all charges prior to sentencing, she hadn't even had a public defender. There was only one group that she could even remotely imagine would be interested in providing lawyers for her.

Wolfram and Hart. 

Faith continued to follow the prison guard towards the room she would be meeting her lawyer privately, but if it really was Wolfram and Hart...Faith didn't exactly enjoy being in prison, but she wasn't that desperate to get out jail. She knew that she was many things, not all of them positive, but she was determined to do all she could to make sure that evil wasn't one of them any longer.

As she approached the room, she felt a...sensation. She couldn't place a particular word for it, but it felt...similar to what she felt when a demon or a vampire was nearby. It was too bright out for it to be a vampire...and besides it didn't feel like a vampire or a demon....just similar. Whatever else was in that room, someone in it – no, wait, _two_ someones – was not human. The guard stood outside the door and Faith stepped through the doorway, closing the door firmly behind her.

And sure enough, sitting on the other side of the table that sat in the center of the room was Lilah Morgan, the Wolfram and Hart lawyer bitch.

Faith smirked when she saw Lilah. “I know you're well...evil, but since when did you stop being human?”

“Since the beginning of our lives, actually, as it turns out.” A familiar voice said from the corner of the room. Faith turned to see Wesley leaning against the wall there, arms folded in front of him. “Hello Faith.”

“Hey Wes,” Faith replied. “What does Angel think about you working for Evil Incorporated?”

“Angel's opinion is wholly irrelevant to me.” Wesley said entirely truthfully. At the slightly confused and skeptical look on Faith's face, Wesley added, “A lot has changed in the last three years while you've been behind bars, Faith.”

“I can tell you've changed,” Faith said, looking her former watcher over with new eyes. His look was completely different to how he'd been, even when she'd seen him last before going into prison. And on his neck...she'd given him a number of scars when she'd....she'd tortured him...but that cut...that was not one of them. There had to be a story there. “I like it.” She turned to Lilah. “But I'm not so eager to get out the joint that I'm willing to work for Wolfram and Hart, so both of you can just leave if that's what you're here for.”

Lilah scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Please. Wolfram and Hart has _some_ standards. You didn't fulfill the last contract they made with you. They aren't likely to give you a chance to betray them again.” Lilah shrugged, then smirked. “Fortunately for you, neither of us are here on behalf of my former employers.”

Faith narrowed her eyes doubtfully. “Former employers? I'm guessing Wolfram and Hart isn't a place you just give the two weeks notice to and walk out the door.”

Lilah was forced to nod in agreement with that. “No, its not. You're bound by contracts – deal with the devil, as it were – but as it turns out, there was a slight mistake on my employment contract. So when they finish cleaning out the bodies, they'll find my resignation letter sitting on my old desk.”

“Cleaning out the bodies?” Faith said with a slight chuckle. “What, did Angel get tired of playing nice and just decide to just go all medieval on your assess?”

“Actually, the big bad of the year decided it didn't want the competition.” Wesley told his former slayer. “You've heard about what's been happening in Los Angeles?”

“The rain of fire and the sun going dark?” Faith asked. At Wesley's nodded, Faith shrugged. “Yea. But I notice the sun is back. So it looks like Angel saved the world again. So let's get to the point. What are you doing here, and how are neither of you human now, when last time I saw either of you, you were both completely human?”

“Did your first Watcher, or Giles, for that matter, ever tell you about something called Lightning Swordsmen?” Wesley asked.

“No. Why?”

“Because that's what Wesley and I are.” Lilah said. “Lightning Swordswoman in my case, but you get the idea. Where exactly we come from is unknown, but if we die a violent death...we don't stay dead. Instead we become functionally immortal. Only one way to kill us.” She made a cutting motion across her neck. “Off with our heads. And if you do that, whole bunch of blue lightning gets released.” There was no point in elaborating, about the Game, other immortals, and so on. “And we don't age any more, which is a nice bonus.”

“Sweet gig.” Faith said after a moment. “Can you prove it?”

“Not here.” Wesley said. “Didn't bring any weapons, and I don't fancy letting you break my arm as a proof case or anything along those lines. We can still feel pain – try dying. Not a pleasant experience. We can die...we just don't stay dead if our heads are still attached to our bodies.”

Faith shrugged. “Interesting...doesn't explain why you're here. Or why you decided to stop by and arrange for me getting out of prison. Not that I want to stay here, but if the problems in L.A. have already been dealt with, you don't need my help. So, wanna fill me in?”

“The situation in Los Angeles has been resolved, true, but there are even worse things happening in Sunnydale, which is where we need your help.” Wesley said. “Angel and the rest are headed up there, but from what Willow says, we'll need all the help we can get. And like it or not, you're a Slayer.”

“I'm not sure that Buffy would like me just showing up in her town and offering my help. Not with our...past.” Faith replied. 

Wesley scoffed. “Buffy Summers has the common sense of a small poodle. In her time as Slayer, she's done little more than show amazingly poor judgment, which has brought the world far closer to the brink of destruction than any sane person can be comfortable with. Frankly, her life is virtually a textbook case defending the existence and purpose of the Watchers' Council.” It was impossible to miss the hint of personal bitterness underlying the scorn in his voice. “If you were to actually offer her your help rather than just giving her a _fait accompli_ , she would turn down the offer, out of short-sightedness and a misplaced sense of self-righteousness.”

Faith laughed a little. “I didn't realize you hated Buffy that much.” She said, folding her arms in front of her.

“Between the two of you, Buffy and you ruined my life, and you gave me a baptism in my own blood. But I don't hate her, or you. I can't be spared the effort to actively hate either of you. But you...well, I can only say I dislike you because the English language unfortunately lacks the proper words to encapsulate how feel about you.”

“Gee Wes,” Faith said. “You sure know how to make a girl feel wanted.” She shrugged. “If that's the way you feel-”

Wesley, stepping so close that he was almost in her face, cut her off. “As it stands right now Faith, you're worthless. A murderer hiding from the world in prison in a vain attempt to redeem herself.” He scoffed, “You don't redeem yourself by locking yourself away from the fight. Right now the balance sheet is stacked heavily against you. You have a lot to atone for. You didn't come here seek redemption for yourself. You came here because you're nothing but a worthless murderer and that is all you will ever be. And you -” Before could finish, Faith interrupted him in the most direct manner possible. She punched him in the face, sending him staggering backwards, and caving in his nose. Wesley clapped a hand to his face on reflex, the damage already healing, but the pain was still there, and blood was spilling onto his hand.

“I think you've made your point, Wes.” Lilah said softly. She turned back to Faith. “You do realize that, in his mind, you've just proved him right, don't you?”

“I'm more than willing to mess up your pretty face too, Lilah.” Faith said dangerously.

Lilah rolled her eyes. “It won't do much,” She said, nodding in Wesley's direction. The former Watcher's nose was already completely healed. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his face and hand. 

“Wicked cool.” Faith said with a chuckle after a moment's shock.

“I'm absolutely thrilled that you find it amusing.” Wesley told her dryly. 

“The point is, Faith.” Lilah interjected. “We're going to need your help. And you are not going to redeem yourself or atone for your sins by rotting in prison for thirty years.”

“Like you'd know anything about redemption.” Faith shot back.

“More than you apparently.” Lilah replied. “I mean, Angel does too. Why do you think he keeps on fighting the good fight, helping the hopeless, and all that nauseating hero crap, rather than just hiding himself away from the world like you are? The way you're going to balance things out and maybe get yourself out of a ticket to a hell dimension when you die is to get out there and fight the forces of evil head on.”

Faith shrugged. “I'd love to, but I'm a little...I don't know, _in jail._ ” She raised her voice on the last two words.

“Something easily resolved. In a few hours, you're going to get paroled, and permission to go to Sunnydale. In two weeks, your sentence is going to be commuted to time served.”

“You sound pretty certain about that.”

_One of the joys of people thinking you still work for Wolfram and Hart._ Lilah didn't mention that to Faith. It would be...counter productive. Instead, she shrugged. “We'll be waiting outside of the prison for you when you get paroled. We'll fill you in on all the shit happening in Sunnydale on the way.” She walked up to the door as Wesley slipped the bloodstained handkerchief in his pocket, and knocked. “Guard? We're ready to leave now.”

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And indeed, a few hours later, the front gates of the prison were opened and Faith stepped out. She had never imagined getting out of prison that quickly. She saw Wesley and Lilah standing next to a car nearby, and walked over to them. “Okay, so how did you pull that off, Lawyer Bitch?”

“Trade secret.” Lilah said, opening the front passenger door and getting in, as Wesley got into the driver's side. “Get in.” Faith got into the backseat, and Wesley started the car, driving out of the parking lot. 

“So, fill me in?” Faith asked, yet again.

“Did Buffy or Giles ever fill you in on how something called the First Evil tried to make Angel kill Buffy, or himself?”

Faith nodded after a moment. “Sounds familiar. What is it back? The guy can't touch anything...”

“But he's got an army at his disposal.” Wesley said. “An army that includes potentially thousands, or more, of uber-vampires, Turok-Han. If it can get the Turok-Han out of some sort of extra-dimensional pocket...I'm not entirely clear on how all that is working.”

“Uber-vampires? How tough can they be?”

“According to Willow, simply staking won't do, and they're at least twice as strong as a regular vampire.” Wesley continued, “And this army, which includes demonically strengthened humans known as Bringers, is attempting to exterminate the entire Slayer Line. The death every potential Slayer in existence. And then killing you and Buffy, I would assume.”

Faith wasn't an idiot. She could see the stakes. “And if there are no more Slayers, evil gets a field day. What are the Watchers doing? I mean, they're a bunch of idiots and misogynists, but-”

Wesley cut her off, “The Council Headquarters were blown up by agents of the First. The vast majority of the Council has been killed, and the vast majority of its archives destroyed. We're going to be fighting blind with inadequate forces against an enemy that we can't actually kill. We can just kill his minions, and he has plenty of those.”

“Sounds like a regular day in Sunnydale. Buffy blew the Mayor up. She'll figure out a way.”

“I don't think blowing the Mayor up was exactly her idea, specifically. But either way, there are innocent girls, potentials, who are going to die as well as Buffy and her friends. They're not going to be able to do this alone.”

They continued to drive towards Sunnydale. Wesley preferred not to talk to Faith, but Lilah cheerfully filled her in on the things that had happened while she was in prison – the return of Darla, the birth of Connor, the arrival of Holtz, Wesley's kidnapping of Connor, Connor's return, and everything leading up to the death of the Beast.

As they drew closer and closer to Sunnydale, it began to grow dark. Suddenly, Wesley slammed his foot on the breaks.

“What the hell Wes!?” Faith asked – she'd not bothered to put on a seat-belt – as she lurched forward. Wesley didn't answer and threw open the door. Lilah looked out the front window and saw what Wesley did. 

“A body, in front of the car.” She told Faith, and both woman were out of the care a few moments later.

Wesley had rolled the woman over – she'd made no response. “She's alive, but she's bleeding badly. We need to get her to a hospital. Faith, help me lift her up.” He ordered his former charge. For a change, Faith obeyed promptly, and they started to carry her over to the back seat. Lilah was looking at the road. “The blood...she rolled into position here. Someone threw her out of a car. And within...a few minutes, at most.”

As Faith settled the girl into the other side of the back seat, she couldn't help but say, “Yep. I'm back in Sunnydale now.”

Wesley pulled out his cell phone and dialed Cordelia's – Angel's was perpetually turned off. It rang only once before she answered. 

“Yeah?”

“Cordelia. We have Faith and we're on our way, but someone left a half-dead girl on the road. I think it might be another potential. She might live if we can get her to a hospital.” Wesley said. “Have Buffy and Giles meet us at Sunnydale General.”

“I'll ask Giles, but Buffy isn't at her house at the moment. She's out patrolling with Spike. Angel...he's gone on a patrol as well, to brood in peace.”

“Spike? As in William the Bloody?”

“Yep.” Cordelia said. “Apparently he's gone and gotten himself a soul.”

“What?” Wesley scoffed. “You've got to be joking.”

“I wish.” Cordelia said. “I almost expected the universe to explode, with two souled vampires so close. One is weird enough. Two is becoming a cliché. Next thing you know Spike and that psycho-bitch Drusilla will be having a kid.”

“There's a horrifying thought. Alright. Just have Giles meet us there.”

“Got it.” Cordelia said, and Wesley hung up.

“You really think she's a potential? She doesn't look like much right now.” Faith commented.

“It seems like it fits, given the circumstances. I think whoever left her there did it deliberately as a message to us. Or, more specifically, to you.”

“How would whoever did it know I'm coming?”

“I assume they work for the First, and from what little I know about the First, it is about as close to omniscient as anything can get. And its the logical move for us to do – to get your help. If Buffy had any brains, she'd have at least warned you once she realized what the First was up to. Or more likely, the idea of you dying at the hands of agents of the First didn't bother her.”

“I'd believe that. Someone did come at me with a nasty-looking knife. Said something about getting paid. I figured it was you guys,” she nodded at Lilah, “Or even the Watchers that were doing the paying. I guess not, though.”

“I wouldn't put something like that past my former Employers.” Wesley said honestly. Then he added, “By the way, Spike has a soul now, apparently. I understand that the two of you met, briefly. Don't try and kill him.”

“Spike? That billy-idol wannabe?”

Lilah chuckled. “That's him.”

“So he's like Angel now?”

“Don't let him hear you say that,” Lilah replied. “From his file...well, let's just say grand-sire and grand-childe are not exactly...well, they hated eachother enough when neither had a soul, and I suspect they won't get along any better now.”

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Getting the girl into the hospital was more difficult than he would have preferred, but still doable. They'd had to answer a barrage of questions from the blindingly incompetent police department as well. 'No officer, I don't know who stabbed her,' 'yes officer, we just found her on the road,' 'no officer, I have no idea who she is,' 'no officer, I don't know why they might have branded her on the neck,' and on and on and on. Thoroughly unpleasant. Finally, they managed to head up to observation, to see how the girl was doing. Giles was there, looking through the glass. He turned when they approached.

“Wesley...” Giles said slowly, sounding more than a little surprised, “You've...changed...” 

“Quite.” Wesley said. “What was it you said about me, last time we spoke? Ah yes, that I had 'the emotional maturity of a blueberry scone.'”

“Ah...well, yes,” Giles said slowly. He changed topic slightly, “Willow tells me that you're- ah- that you're a Lightening Swordsmen. You and Miss Morgan here.”

“Willow needs to learn to not share information that isn't hers to share.” Wesley muttered, then, “Yes. We are. Do we know anything else about what the First is up to, what its doing?” 

_Down to business...fair enough._ Giles answered: “Nothing specific. The Bringers haven't been doing as much, recently, actually. I'm worried there's something big coming.”

“Do we have any idea how many Bringers there are?” Wesley asked. 

“No. We've never seen them in particularly large groups – largest we've seen is ten- but more always keep coming. I suspect most of them are occupied with hunting down the last of the Watchers, and any potentials they can find. The First probably just calls them in as needed.” Giles looked at Lilah. “I'd think you'd know more about the First than anyone else here.”

Lilah chuckled. “The Senior Partners and the First Evil do not get along. The Senior Partners were the ones that thwarted his last attempt to take corporeal form, couple thousand years ago. Admittedly, that's about all I know about the First. The source-templates might have more, but I doubt it. The Senior Partners tend to be rather taciturn on the subject of the First.”

“Source templates?” Giles asked. 

“Books Wesley and I stole from Wolfram and Hart, when I dropped off my resignation letter. Any book in the Wolfram and Hart archives, the source templates can show it. You just have to ask. Or ask for a list of books by subject. That reminds me,” Lilah took the amulet from her pocket and handed it to Giles, who took it, confused. “Buffy is going to need that. The official plan was to give it to her – whatever it does, we haven't checked the templates yet – at the last moment, so her sides suffers maximum attrition.”

“I'm going to go find Buffy.” Faith said. “I can't do much good here, and a cemetery is more my style anyway.”

“Someone should stay here, in case she wakes up,” Giles started slowly. 

“That can be you,” Wesley said. “There's no need for all four of us to wait here.”

“I'll wait here.” Lilah said. “Ripper here should get that Amulet and the templates over to Buffy, Angel and friends. See if they can figure out what its supposed to do.” She smirked at the look of surprise that formed on Giles's face as she casually tossed out his old nickname. “Wolfram and Hart. We know everything. Or near enough as makes no difference, anyway.”

Wesley raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “Alright.” He nodded to Giles. “Follow me. The Templates are in my car.”

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Faith and Wesley found Buffy and Spike in one of the innumerable cemeteries of Sunnydale, fighting a gang of vampires. So far, they were doing quite well for themselves. 

“Well, go on then,” Wesley said, tossing Faith a stake. “Or are you afraid you're a little rusty after three years away?”

“Nah.” Faith said. “Its just like riding a biker.” She twirled the stake in her hand once, before leaping into the fray, getting a surprised vampire in the back. Wesley watched from afar. Then something approached. Wesley spun around and caught the incoming punch of a vampire in one hand. It managed to rip its arm out of his grasp with relative ease – at this point, Vampires were still a great deal stronger than he was – and punched at him again. This one sent Wesley flying into open view of the rest of the fight, sprawled on the ground a moment. Buffy actually took a moment to look surprised. 

“Wesley!? What the hell are you doing out here? Way too dangerous for someone like you.” She ducked under a blow from another vampire.

Wesley jumped up to his feet and extended his collapsible sword. “Between the two of us, its a great deal more dangerous for you to be out here than me.” He swung at the vampire that had punched him, neatly decapitating it.

“She's the Slayer,” Spike said, “And who the hell are you?”

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.” Wesley said. “And you're William the Bloody.” He sliced at a vampire, and missed. “Tell me, if Angel decided to get a tan, would you follow suit? Because I think you have serious sire issues.”

“Oi!” Spike protested. “Angel's got nothing to do with me getting a soul!” He punched out another vampire, which Buffy promptly staked. Wesley rolled his eyes, and unfortunately didn't notice the vampire coming at him from behind.

“Wesley!” Buffy yelled in warning – she didn't care much for the man, but she hardly wanted him dead – but too late. The vampire bit its teeth into Wesley's throat. Buffy ran to pull it off, but before she could reach it, the vampire staggered back, and made sounds that seemed as if it was choking in Wesley's blood. Second later, it was consumed in a blast of blue lightening.

“Okay, what the hell was that?” Buffy demanded, throwing her stake into the chest of the last vampire. Faith hadn't said anything during the exchange.

“Bloody hell. You're a lightning swordsman!”

“A what?” Buffy demanded. 

“Lightning Swordsmen. Immortal. You injure one and they just heal. That bloody blue lightening is what does it. Death to vampires if you drink from them, as you can see.” Spike said. “About a century ago I met a Scottish one in Paris that tried to kill me and Dru.”

“Are they demons.”

“We're about as human as you are, Buffy.” Wesley said. “Even if we get better advantages.”

“If you want to kill one you'll need to take off their head.” Faith interjected, tossing Wesley back the stake he'd given her. Wesley caught it easily. “At least that's what his girlfriend said.”

“Girlfriend? Wesley?!” Okay, Wesley had changed – it was obvious just on appearance – and she had to admit that sword that had come out of his sleeve was beyond cool, but still. It was _Wesley!_

“Yea. Lawyer-bitch. Also Immortal. Used to work for Wolfram and Hart, actually. Not any more.”

Buffy facepalmed. “Someone start from the beginning.”

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The next night came and passed far to quickly for Wesley's tastes. They were too crowded in Buffy's house, but people were fleeing the Hellmouth at a steady clip, and so it happened that the neighbors across the street from Buffy had completely abandoned their home, not bothering to take much in the way of furniture. Angel and the rest of the team moved in there. Much smaller than the Hyperion, but it would have to do.

The potentials' training was dismal, for the most part, and the one Buffy had put in charge of it, was not helping things. This...Kennedy knew it all very well, but her attitude towards the other potentials was...unhelpful to say the least. Wesley didn't exactly have their trust, and even the ones who had had Watchers didn't exactly gravitate towards him in any way. He didn't exactly look or act the part of Watcher, anymore. Not that he'd wanted them to, for that matter. And Faith was getting along well with Spike, which had bothered Buffy. _Lovely. Romantic Drama._

“We're doomed.” Wesley commented that night to Lilah, while Willow and Buffy had gone to the hospital – the girl was awake, and coherent. “I mean, the fate of the world rests in the hands of Buffy, Faith, and that lot,” He pointed to the other room, where the potentials were. 

“Buffy's saved the world and impressive number of times, Wesley.” Giles said, from the doorway.

“Yes, by the skin of her teeth! My god man, get some perspective! It frightens me, just how many times your Slayer's short-sightedness has brought the world _this_ close,” He held his fingers a millimeter or so apart, “to absolute annihilation. Not to mention the fact that she's **died** twice. You think of her as a daughter, and that's all well and good, but for the love of god, take a step back and follow that with a good, long look at what's happened in the last seven years.”

“Yea. I've saved the world at least ten times. That's what's happened.” Buffy said. “I'd like to see you say the same thing. But until then, shut it.” Wesley scoffed, but didn't reply. He and Lilah did follow Buffy into the living room, where everyone was assembled. “We've got a new player in town. Dresses like a preacher. Calls himself Caleb. Looks like he's working for the First. He's taunting us, calling us out. Says he's got something of mine. Could be another girl, could be something else. Don't know, don't care. I'm tired of talking. I'm tired of training. He's got something of mine? Fine. I'm getting it back, and you guys are coming with me.” She said with finality. Wesley had to admire her decisiveness, but not much else. Nevertheless, he followed Angel, Giles and the rest of the old hands at this up the stairs, leaving the potentials, the former demon Anya, Dawn and that annoying Andrew character behind in the living room. Buffy didn't seem all that interested in giving Angel and his team a seat at the table, but they were loyal to Angel over Buffy, and they had been at this for long enough to qualify as helpful on this.

“We need to start arming the girls. I wanna be ready to move when we find him.” Buffy said, once they were all assembled.

Willow raised an objection, “We don't even know where we're going.” 

“'S why I figured we'd do a little recon first.” Buffy said. She turned to Faith. “You up for it?”

“Point me where you want me.” Faith said with a shrug.

“And you're certain this is the best course of action? You don't even know what this man has of yours - if he, in fact, has anything.” Giles said. 

“I have to agree with Giles, Buffy.” Angel said. “You're just reacting, dancing to his tune. You don't want to play the other side's game.”

“This isn't a game Angel!” Buffy shot back. “It could be a girl, a potential trying to get to us. We don't have the luxury of not going in.”

“And it could be a stapler, if anything at all!” Giles threw in. “This is a risk you just can't afford to take.”

“Going in anyway.” Buffy said flatly. Wesley saw Xander facepalm and pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance, and Wesley had to empathize with the other man there. _Just because you're the Slayer doesn't give you any tactical sense at all, Buffy._ He didn't vocalize that, just yet, even though he agreed with Buffy's decision to go in after this...Caleb.

“With the girls?” Giles demanded. “Most of whom have yet to be in the field, let alone in a life or death situation? They'll have no idea what to do.”

“Then it's time we test them.” Buffy said tersely.

“Baptism by Fire. Its harsh, but it might be the best option.” Gunn said. “With the world ending, we don't have time to train them slowly. Crash course.” 

“You'll be risking a lot of lives,” Angel noted. “These girls came to you for protection.”

“Look, I'll just take the ones that have been here the longest. The rest can stay behind.” Buffy said.

Spike chose that moment to comment, “Could be that's just what he wants you to do - the old bait-and-switch.”

“Yeah, he lures us away and then kills the girls we leave behind.” Willow agreed.

“I know. That's why I need you to stay here with them. You're my most powerful weapon, Will. I know you can keep them safe if anything happens. And you too Angel.”

Angel looked like he was going to protest, _probably something along the lines of 'why me and not Spike'_ , Wesley mused, but then seemed to think better of it, and nodded.

“An unknown man breezes into town, says he has something of yours. Buffy, this thing's got 'trap' written all over it.” Xander said. _There we go. Exactly._

“Of course its a trap.” Wesley cut in. “That's the entire point. The trick is to turn the enemy's trap against them. Because just as the enemy knows you're coming to them, you know they'll be waiting for you. We're not going to defeat the First and save the world by staying here inside this house forever. At some point you'll have to go out and take the fight to it! Or at least, its minions.”

“And he won't be expecting a full attack - not this soon. Which is why we have to move. **Now.** ” Buffy added. “I'm tired of waiting, waiting to be attacked. If he wants a fight, I say we give it to him.”

“We know nothing about this man, his abilities, his forces, his specific plans. We cannot go into battle unprepared. We have to have more time.” Giles protested.

“Where do you propose we get that time?” Wesley said. “Fred, I don't suppose you could slow time down for us, given that the clock on the end of the world is starting -” He was cut off by Cordelia gasping, eyes closed, head through back. Angel managed to catch her. “I know where he is. And he has bringers – at least...twenty, I think?” She said weakly. She gave the location. “An old Vineyard...Shadow Valley Vineyards. The basement.”

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

After some short discussion, it had been decided which Potentials would go with them. Buffy, Faith, Xander, Spike, Wesley, Gunn and Lilah would also come with them. Buffy had only been persuaded on Lilah when it was pointed out that both she and Wesley were virtually indestructible. Lilah had also noted, with a smirk, that 'Its not as if you'll be very broken up if I do end up dying in there anyway. So what do you have to lose.”

As they approached the Vineyard, they saw several bringers entering the structure. 

“OK.” Buffy started. “Set up a perimeter. Guard the door. I don't want anything getting in behind us. Faith, the potentials and I go n first, check the place out. You guys are our safety-net. If this place is a trap, we give the signal, you guys come in, guns a-blazing.”

“So what's the signal.” Xander asked.

“I'm thinking...lots and lots of yelling.”

“Works,” Gunn said softly. 

Buffy turned to the potentials, “Shall we?” 

And sure enough, within minutes, the sound of fighting could be heard from the basement of the structure. The five of them still on the surface looked at eachother, then headed down. Immediately, Wesley and Lilah extended their swords, and set to fighting. The Bringers fought well for blind men, and they had weapons, which was almost – but not quite – a refreshing change. It did make Wesley more careful. The fight was just slightly in their favor, but not by much. Then suddenly, as one, the Bringers fell back, which made absolutely no sense. 

“What the hell?” Wesley said. 

A tall man wearing a clerical uniform stepped into view in the lit portion of the room. He spoke, a dark humor implicit in his voice. “Well, now, you girls are just burning with righteousness, aren't you? Problem is, you think you're blazing like suns, when really you're burning like matchsticks in the face of the darkness. You having fun? Now, I hope my boys haven't worn you out too much - I need you fit for when I purify you.” _He certainly does have the evil rhetoric down. Better than...well, most anything I've heard in that department._ Then it hit him. The man...he was...he looked at Lilah. She was feeling it too. He was immortal...but there was something else...something...greater...something - the only word Wesley could come up with... was wrapped...something wrapped around his quickening. This wasn't an ordinary Immortal.

“Save the sermon, padre. I heard you have something of mine.” Buffy said. Before she could say anything more, the man, Caleb, cut her off with a dark chuckle.

“Well, I do now. You liked my little message, did you? You know, I ruined a perfectly good knife on that girl. Got her soiled blood all over the place. I may have to get a new truck.” Buffy looked appalled at his words, but stood firm. “So...you're the slayer.” His tone started to increase in volume and tempo, as if he was delivering a sermon. “ _The_ slayer. _The_ strongest, _the_ fastest, _the_ most aflame with that most _precious invention_ of all mankind - the notion of goodness.” He paused, just for a moment, then said, in a quieter tone, a hint of amusement in his tone. “The slayer must indeed be powerful.” Before Buffy could react, Caleb punched her in the face, his arm almost a blur. She went flying across the room, crashing into the wall and collapsing to the floor. Caleb popped his neck and looked around the room, a smug expression on his face. “So, what else you got?”

**Next time, on Dead Man Walking:** _Caleb is more than just another Immortal, and when the entire team gets beaten, and a potential dies, things start to go downhill, as dissension stirs in the ranks of the forces of good, and the First Evil continues its plots._

**Author's Note:** Let be clear – I like Buffy (though I think she can be amazingly stupid and short-sighted at times). Wesley, though, really does not like her. I don't think he ever really did in-canon, and in this fic particularly, I don't think he does.

Also, as always, if you think I have a characterization wrong, feel free to tell me. I may not always agree with your opinion of my characterization or its quality, but I will take your thoughts into account.


	19. Father Caleb

**Disclaimer:** I do not own it. 

**Author's Note:** Yes, I know it took a long time. Real life, etc. My Beta got it done really quick, so kudos to him.

Thanks to Oxnate for being said beta

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 19: Father Caleb

For a brief moment, everyone stood there in shock. Buffy was their best asset, their best warrior. The Slayer, and the longest living one at that. Sure, Faith had power, but still...Buffy was...well, Buffy. Even Wesley had to admit that. But Caleb had shrugged her off – or rather, sent her flying across the room – as if she was nothing.

The shock and silence didn't last long. Within seconds, Spike had donned his true face and leapt at Caleb. Moving even faster than a Slayer, Caleb knocked the vampire aside without a second thought. He looked at Wesley and Lilah, then smirked. He reached out his left hand and a bringer came over, handing him a sword. Caleb spun the sword around for a moment, then pointed it towards the two of them idly.

“I'll admit, I don't often get the chance to take a head, in my line of work. The feeling of the righteous fire when you steal a quickening. Its something, isn't it?” Caleb said. Then he cocked his head, “But then, your woman hasn't had the chance to feel that, has she?” He turned to look at just her. “Tell you what Lilah, come at me. Fair fight, one on one, winner takes the loser's head.”

“I doubt any fight with you would be fair, given the obvious speed and strength you have.” Lilah said. She pulled out her gun. “Besides, I make it a general rule not to get involved in a fight unless I've stacked the deck in my favor.”

“Ah...just another treacherous woman then, like Eve giving the apple to Adam.” Caleb's smirk only grew more smug. “You know that gun won't do much to me. So why are you bothering?”

“Because shooting you wasn't on the agenda – yet.” Wesley said, holding his own pistol. With practiced skill, they began to pick off the Bringer's one by one, body mass shots not exactly killing them in one blow, but rendering them functionally incapable of fighting. 

The potentials that were watching were, pretty much, wondering why the hell they weren't using guns themselves. And so too was Xander. Usually he was the guy who came up with those sorts of ideas – the 'mundane' ones. He'd gotten too used to the fact that since guns didn't work against vampires...they didn't work against anything they fought. 

_Then again, guns worked just fine against Tara, and nearly killed Buffy a second time. Just because you don't use them doesn't mean they can't hurt you._ Xander thought to himself. 

“Now that's just not fair.” Caleb said. “Not sporting at all. Attack, boys!” The remaining Bringers – who clearly had all the initiative of a rock – finally moved from just standing still and eating lead, and charged. The potentials raised their weapons and charged in. Lilah and Wesley kept up shooting where they could, but the melee was making it hard for them to avoid friendly fire.

Faith went at Caleb, a knife in each hand, but Caleb seemed unfazed by her aggression. He sidestepped one of her swings, then looked her over. “Well, you're the other one, aren't you. The Cain to her Abel.” Angrily, Faith threw one of her knives at him, but Caleb caught it on one hand, snapping it even as more blue lightening danced across the tiny cut the blade made on his hand. He smirked yes again. “No offense meant to Cain, of course.” With a half-scream, Faith swung at him again, but once more he avoided the blow and caught her arm. With a twist, he brought it around, rendering her immobile, but forcing her to look at him. With impossible strength, he squeezed her hand. Faith bit her lip, fighting the pain, but she couldn't manage it. The pressure forced her to drop the knife. Not giving up the Slayer raised her knee up and hit Caleb in the crotch. Even an immortal had to respond to that, and Caleb was no different. 

With a grunt, the 'priest' staggered back and let go of her hand. Faith didn't waste any time, backhanding him across the face. “I never was a fan of the _good book._ ” Caleb grabbed her arm a second time and bent it behind her, forcing her to double over, then fall onto her knees. 

“Oh, it has its moments.” Caleb drawled. “Paul had some good stuff, for instance.” He pulled his hand back. “But overall I find it a tad complicated.” Seamlessly, he brought his hand down and slapped Faith across the face. “I like to keep things simple.” He let go of Faith's arm and kicked her across the room. She went flying into a stack of wine barrels. She shattered the barrels she ran into, the wine spilling dark and red across the floor. “Good folk, bad folk.” One of the potentials, Chao-Ahn, charged at him, swinging her sword at him. Caleb again, side-stepped the attack and grabbed her sword. He ignored it as it cut into his hand and pulled his hand down to the side, snapping the weapon. Letting go of the useless weapon, he grabbed her neck. “Clean folk, dirty folk...” Caleb snapped Chao-Ahn's neck with practiced ease, dropping her to the ground like so much garbage moments later.   
“NO!” Molly, another potential shouted, as she saw it.   
“Yes.” Caleb replied. He stalked through the melee towards the girl. “What can I say? I work in mysterious ways.” He stabbed at Molly, but his blade was blocked by another. 

“Breaking a neck is hardly mysterious.” Lilah replied cooly, stepping between Caleb and the potential. 

“Well, I also work in some fairly straightforward ways.” Caleb chuckled, stepping back. “So, you're ready for a fair fight then?” 

Lilah shook her head. “Not so much.” She managed – barely – to block another swing from Caleb, her hand shaking at the force of his blow. She staggered back. 

“Not really that surprised.” Caleb said, walking towards her. Lilah stepped back, then sidestepped the body of a dead bringer. “You're weak, Lilah. Too new to your immortality to know how to use it. Relish it.”

“I lasted pretty long before my first death, didn't I?” Lilah swung at a nearby barrel with her sword, cutting it open just enough for the wine inside to spray out forcefully as the pressure released. The wine got into Caleb's eyes, distracting him just long enough for Lilah to get an idea. She lifted the dead bringer to its feet _Fuck, this bastard's heavier than I expected_ , and shoved it at Caleb, leaving him with an armful of corpse. Still, that was hardly enough, so even as Caleb wiped his eyes, dropping the bringer, Lilah was in place with more. A solid **push** against the barrels later, and a half dozen fell on Caleb, knocking him to the floor for a few more seconds. 

Wesley, for his part, was left to dispatch more bringers, but for blind priests, they were surprisingly good, if unimaginative, swordsmen. Ducking under a swing, Wesley stabbed one in the stomach, pushing it off the blade with his foot and moving on to the next enemy.

No sooner was Caleb back on his feet, though, then Buffy was there. As he stood back up, Buffy punched him in the face, sending him reeling.

“Round two, then!” Caleb said with a grin. “Oh good!” This time, unfortunately for Caleb, Buffy was more prepared. Using her own speed to her advantage, she avoided his attacks, feinting him and getting in a few punches of her own – which did little visible damage, unfortunately. With a scream of contained frustration Buffy kicked out, catching him in the chest, and sending him flying across the room. 

“Everyone, out!” Xander called. Buffy took down another Bringer as Xander started helping Kennedy up and onto her feet. Spike grabbed Buffy's arm. 

“We are leaving!” Spike almost ordered, half-dragging her from the fight for a few moments before she went on her own. 

Xander was the last out, handing Kennedy off to Faith, when -

Xander felt pain bloom in his arm as it was grabbed, then wrenched, pulling him around to be face to face to Caleb, close enough to look him right in the eye. 

“Xander!” Buffy called, running towards her friend.

“Xander Harris. The normal one. Without any powers. Except you're not, are you? You're the one who sees everything, aren't you?” He grinned and pulled back his other hand. “Let's see what we can do about tha-” a gunshot rang out and got Caleb in the arm that was holding Xander. Wesley didn't even wait to see the result and fired more lead into the other man, emptying his clip, then switching guns and emptying that one too, walking towards Caleb the whole time. The force of the blasts had sent the man staggering backwards with each shot, despite himself. But unlike a regular immortal, who would at least have the decency to die for a few seconds – and be easy pickings – Caleb just laughed, the wounds closing as quickly as they had formed. “It'll take a hell of a lot more than that to end me, Wesley!” 

“Another time, then.” Wesley said, as he and Xander both went for the stairs. Caleb watched, not chasing after them.

“Another time, aye.” He called after them.

**Author's Note:** Thematically, this was the best place to end the chapter. Yes, its far, far shorter than I'd like, but its what works.


	20. Plans and Preperation

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Highlander the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Angel the Series. I do own the plot of this fic, however.

**Author's Note:** I was going to make this a little bit longer, but again, the wait was way too long for my tastes. School may be done, but I seem to have no real understanding of time management. Gah...NationStates has taken over my life.

Thanks to my Beta, Oxnate.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 20: Plans and Preparation

The trip from the vineyard back to Buffy's residence was an unpleasant one, to say the least. The tension was thick, the journey was understandably hurried as they moved to escape – though the enemy made no moves to pursue them, apparently content to simply hold the vineyard. And, of course, overlaying everything was the fact that they had lost one of their own. Well, for the Potentials and the local Sunnydale crew, anyway. Wesley and Lilah didn't have any particular attachment to the girl that had been lost, but it was never good to lose an asset.

Once the injured girls had been left at the hospital – fortunately nothing overtly life threatening for the rest of them – with Xander and Spike to watch over them, they'd returned to Buffy's home. And once there, Buffy had decided she needed a word with Wesley and Lilah.

“Okay.” She started once they alone. “What the hell was that? You talked like you knew that man, and...he's one of you guys, isn't he? With that blue lightning?”

“He's a Lightening Swordsman, yes.” Wesley answered. “But he's more than that. Lightening Swordsmen do die, we just don't stay dead. When I shot him full of bullets, he should have died long enough for myself or Lilah – or well, anyone – to take his head. But he didn't. There's something...dark, wrapped around his Quickening.”

“His what?”

“Quickening.” Wesley repeated. “Its the force that keeps Lightening Swordsmen immortal, heals us, and so on. That's why beheading kills us – it releases the Quickening. We can also sense other's Quickenings. His was...different...it was...I don't know how to describe it. I can only imagine the First has something to do with it, and it is probably part of the reason why he's so strong.”

“But will beheading still kill him?” Buffy demanded.

“Without a doubt. He may heal abnormally, even for one of us, but he's still a Lightening Swordsman.” Lilah said. “But if he can't even momentarily die, then I'm not sure how anyone is going to pull that off. You're completely outclasses against him, Faith's outclassed, Spike's outclassed, Angel's going to be outclassed, Wesley's outclassed, I'm outclassed – no one has the strength to take him on one on one.”

“I wasn't expecting him to be as strong as he was. Now I know what to expect. I've fought things stronger than I am – much stronger. Glory was even stronger than this guy is.” _And I still have the troll god hammer..._ she thought to herself. “Can he feel pain?”

“I know I can.” Wesley said, “Any normal Lightening Swordsman can, but then, this man is clearly not normal. He didn't seem that fazed by the bullets.”

Lilah chuckled. “Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if he got off on the pain.” 

“You're making _jokes?_ ” Buffy said incredulously, glaring at the lawyer.

“Of course.” Lilah replied, unfazed. “Jokes in the face of imminent death are a tried and true way of staying sane.”

“I thought you were familiar with that tactic. Hasn't your friend Xander been doing it this entire time?” Wesley noted. Then: “Look, I have no idea how we're going to kill him. But it will have to be done. I'll look into it, see what I can figure out. A man like him can't be that powerful without making waves, of some kind. I'll look into it, and I suggest you have Giles do the same.” 

Buffy frowned, but nodded. “Alright.” She made a mental note to dig that hammer out of wherever it was in the basement now. It hadn't killed Glory, and might not kill this guy, but it...well, every little bit was going to help. 

“Good.” Wesley and Lilah left the house and went across the street, back to the abandoned one where the AI team had set up shop. They'd need to fill them in on everything as well. 

As they left, Wesley saw several of the potentials- included that insufferable one...Kennedy, her name was – talking together quietly. He didn't hear their words, but...he didn't need to. The low voices they were using, the gestures that Kennedy was making towards Faith, who didn't notice, it seemed...it was easy to put the pieces together if you knew what you were doing.

“Oh dear.” Wesley said, as they kept walking.

“They don't like Buffy.” Lilah finished his thought. “Not that I'm surprised. She's an egomaniac.”

“Without a doubt. She has this...'I'm the Slayer, so you have to do what I say', look on life. She's perfect example of why the Watchers' Council existed. She has no idea what she's talking about sometimes.”

“Neither do you, sometimes.” Lilah said with a small laugh, as they entered the house. “I can see why she and Angel hit it off so well. They're so alike.”

Wesley laughed a little, then scoffed. “Somewhat. But I think Angel's obsession with storming up the biggest brood ever seen is better than Buffy's constant whining. She quit once, then ran away to Los Angeles the next year. And as I understand it, went completely catatonic a few years after that after suffering a defeat. The woman does not handle stress.”

“She's not running away here.” Lilah said. “I think she's made a little progress since then. Made progress since dying the first time.”

“That is a transformative experience for anyone,” Wesley conceded, then grimaced, remembering his own death. He shook his head violently, to rid himself of the image. “Still,” He continued, “I think that this egomania that she is displaying now is more proof of her inability to properly handle stress, an outward expression of her internal issues.

“And you think we handle stress well?” Lilah remarked. “Are you seriously going to tell me that you don't have a tendency to lash out?” Then she chuckled. “And while we're on the subject, we're hardly paragons of moral virtue, you and I. I mean, _you're_ borderline psychotic, and, if you want to get technical, a murderer, and _I'm_ an amoral lawyer who used to work for demons, and while my hands didn't get _that_ dirty, I certainly created a hell of a lot of death and suffering.”

“Buffy, for all her many flaws, can accurately call herself a white hat.” She shook her head. “Neither of us can even remotely pretend to have that title. We're gray at best, and pretty dark gray at that.”

Wesley had to give her that. “Point, a definite point.” As he spoke, they entered the living room. Angel, Gunn, Fred, Lorne and Cordelia were there, Fred busy bandaging a wound that Gunn had managed to acquire in the fight.

“Where's Conner?” Wesley asked, not seeing the hellspawn around. 

“Got antsy staying in here, doing nothing. He went out to patrol, since Buffy and Faith are staying in to cover the potentials. Catch a few vampires, hopefully.” He changed topic, “Gunn filled me in on what happened at the vineyard. This Caleb, he's -”

“a Lightning Swordsman, yes.” Wesley finished. “And one that is far stronger than anyone else in Sunnydale, or anything we've encountered, except for _maybe_ The Beast. And he recovers at a rate that even Lightening Swordsmen shouldn't be able to match. Frankly, I have no idea how we might go about defeating him.”

“Not that we can't say the same about his minions.” Gunn interjected. “Wes and Lilah took out most of them with their guns. They're pretty killable.”

“Guns work just fine against humans, even ones powered up by the First like the Bringers.” Wesley commented.

“And they'll do fine on most demons too.” Lilah noted. “Wolfram and Hart's special operations teams used their guns more than anything else, even on demons.”

“And I can say from personal – very personal – experience, that while they don't kill vampires, they hurt like hell. And a bullet through the head will still render one completely immobile for at least a minute.” He grimaced at the thought. “Did you really have to go and do that? I mean, I know you were shooting Angelus, but that _hurt._ ”

“Sorry.” Lilah said with a grin, not sounding apologetic at all. “But we could hardly let Angelus kill himself before the soul went back in.” 

“You just like that you got to shoot me.” Angel accused. 

“Well, that was a plus.” Lilah said. “After years of Wolfram and Hart not letting me have you killed – because the Senior Partners clearly don't understand the idea that you aren't interested in defecting – I got to 'kill' you. It was very therapeutic.”

“And I'm reminded why you used to be one of the bad guys again.” Fred said. “Or are you still one of them?”

“I'm on your side right now, Texas twig.” Lilah snarked at the physicist. “So, as long as you're all good guys, I am too, by default.”

Fred looked like she was going to retort, but Angel interrupted. “We don't have time for this kind of back and forth.” He shot both woman a glare. “We have an incorporeal undying evil from the dawn of time, an army of uber-vampires hiding under a surprisingly easy to open dark seal, and an immortal priest that can outfight all of us. Plus an army of his minions. So what the hell do we do?”

“Well, I think a good idea is more guns.” Gunn said. “If they work like you say on Bringers, demons and even vampires, we definitely could use the firepower. You didn't happen to bring any more, Wes?”

“Just a shotgun.” Wesley said. “I'll call Emil and have him send off more. The money I took from Alfonso's accounts is starting to stretch thin. That rocket-launcher was expensive.”

“Alfonso?” Angel asked. “Who is – or maybe I should ask 'was' - that?”

“Lightening Swordsman who tried to kill me. He had two centuries on me, so he thought I'd be easy prey. I shot him full of bullets and took his head before he could recover. Then I drained his accounts.”

“Why did he try to kill you in the first place?” 

“The Game.” Wesley said softly. 

“The Game? What kind of sick game could exist where you Lightening Swordsmen go around slicing each other's heads off? What's the point?” Cordelia asked. “I mean, you guys do have souls, right? Vampires go around killing for the hell of it, but I thought you were just like a human but immortal.”

“The Game is the center of our existence, really.” Wesley said. “When one Lightening Swordsman kills another, their power, their Quickening flows into the victor. When I killed Alfonso, I got his power. Supposedly, when there is one of us left in all the world, he or she will have ultimate power to do whatever they want, to rule the world. Frankly, I doubt the reality of such a claim, but plenty of immortals believe it, or just want to get the extra power. We call them 'headhunters'. Most of us just try to live our lives, but all of us have to be well-trained in the sword for our very survival. You never know when a headhunter will show up.”

“God, that is beyond sick and twisted.” Cordelia repeated herself. Then she shook her head. “As fascinating as that all is – in a train-wreck, Jerry Springer kind of way – we do have other issues. Get the guns – sounds like a good idea – but that's only just a start. How do we get rid of psycho preacher? And there's still all those teenage girls hiding over in Buffy's house.”

“I don't know what we can do about Caleb.” Lilah said, “But a great idea to increase the longevity of those girls is to give them guns of their own and train them how to use them.”

“Buffy isn't going to go along with that.”

“Buffy Summers isn't the only leader here, and the girls that saw Lilah and I take out all those Bringers at the Vineyard know full well just how useful the guns are. They'll want to get the advantage if it will help them stay alive.”

“So what, one coup of Buffy coming right up?” Angel demanded, “Is that what you're saying?”

Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. That's not what I am saying.” He sighed. “Look, its late. You may be nocturnal, but we're not. We can talk about this tomorrow. We're all on edge right now.” Wesley looked at Lilah, who nodded in agreement, and they went upstairs to their shared room. 

Near death experiences – and facing off against an immortal of Caleb's power certainly qualified – had a tendency to make someone want to do something that reaffirmed to them that were, in fact, still alive.

And sex was a great way to do that. The two of them were barely inside the room before Lilah nearly attacked Wesley, pushing him against the wall, pressing her lips to his forcefully as she began to rip off his shirt.

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

Sometime later, the two of them lay next to eachother in the bed, throughly sated. 

“That was...explosive.” Wesley said after a moment. 

Lilah chuckled, almost snuggling closer to him. “To say the least.” She cocked her head to the side a moment, then looked at him. “So...assuming we survive this, where do you see us? In ten years? A hundred years.”

“Are you getting sappy on me, Lilah?” Wesley said with a slight chuckle.

“No.” Lilah said softly. “Normal life – two and a half kids, white-picket fence, or hell, even just being married...I'm not particularly interested in that. I just...I mean, if we survive this, we have, theoretically, eternity ahead of us. What are we going to do with it?”

“Whatever comes to mind.” Wesley said. “I mean...I can't see us divorcing ourselves from the supernatural world.”

“No.” Lilah said. “Its kind of hard to not notice it everywhere, once you know it exists.” She sighed. “Besides...I have a lot to make up for. And I know you're not going to give up the good fight, even if you're fighting it in your own way.”

Wesley leaned in and kissed her softly. Once he was done: “I don't know. I mean...I'd like to travel, see all kinds of places in the world. Go back to England, sort out my father's estate. Maybe visit his grave.” 

“I thought you hated him?”

“Pretty much.” He admitted with a sigh of his own. “But...at the end of the day...he was...is...my father. Or the closest thing I'll ever have to one, anyway. I don't think he ever really cared about me, but he did raise me, in his own way. And on some levels...I respect him, as a watcher, and as a man. Not as a father though. On that front he was an utter catastrophe.” He sighed again. “Maybe help rebuild the Watchers Council in some form or another.” He looked back at her again. “What about you?”

Lilah shrugged. “Nothing particular. I'd like to visit Rome. Paris. Stick it to Wolfram and Hart a few times, at least. Maybe blow up one or two of their buildings.”

“Vicious.” Wesley said with a smile. “I like it.”

“Of course you do.” Lilah said with a light chuckle. She laid her head on his chest, as Wesley put his arm around her shoulders. “I love you.” She said softly.

“And I love you.” Wesley replied just as softly, as they both drifted off towards sleep.

**Author's Note:** In tribute to Weird Al, because I just saw a Weird Al Concert about a week ago, I hid a tiny reference to one of his songs in this chapter. See if you can spot it. Bonus points, and special secret spoilers to the first two people to guess it right.


	21. Stalling Tactics

**Disclaimer:** Not. Mine.

Because it took me way too long to finish it, and I wanted to get it out by two weeks (I was planning sooner) after the last update, I didn't send this to my beta, so any and all errors are mine. No blaming Oxnate.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 21: Stalling Tactics

“I did what I thought was right, Buffy.” Giles said, almost angrily. “Decisions have to made in your absence. The world may be coming to an end. We can't afford to wait.”

“Sending away the one person who is watching my back – again is not what I call right!” Buffy shot back, raising her voice.

Giles stood up, “We're all watching your back, Buffy!”

The slayer stood up so quickly her chair collapsed to the ground. “Funny. That's not what it really feels like.”

“Buffy-” Giles started.

“Sorry,” Wesley said, stepping into the room. “Am I interrupting something?” He asked dryly.

“Yes, actually.” Giles said, turning to face his former coworker. “And where is your shadow? That damn lawyer?” Giles wasn't entirely sure why he was feeling so completely hostile to nearly everyone at this point, or the deep well of bitterness he was drawing from. They were all on the edge, he supposed. Still. There was something about Wesley's...well, everything about the man, actually, that rubbed him the wrong way. He had no sense of camaraderie with his fellow watcher – ex-watcher, anyway - and countryman. 

“Lilah isn't my shadow. And she has a name.” Wesley shot back. “I suggest you use it.” There was a dangerous edge in his voice as he glared at Giles.

“What the hell is this?” Buffy cut in. “Some kind of British pissing contest? Both of you, get over yourselves!” She turned to Wesley. “What do you want, anyway, Wesley?”

“I was wondering if Giles had figured out anything about 'Caleb' since last night.” He replied, unfazed by Buffy's mini-rant. “I've been drawing a total blank, and finding nothing to work with.”

Giles at least had the dignity to look a little sheepish at Buffy's words, however. “Well, actually, we did find out something. His full name is Father Caleb Robinson, and he's on the FBI most wanted list. He's left a trail of bodies from the Midwest to here, mostly young teenage girls, but a dozen nuns and three parish priests as well.”

“Potentials.”

“Most of them, likely.” Giles agreed. He took off his glasses and started to clean them. “The police officers seemed...on edge. Then again, everyone did. People are running out of this city in droves.”

“Yea...” Buffy said softly. “Its probably for the best.” She sighed, remembering seeing Clem driving off. There was something a little disheartening about someone she knew, and who knew her, knew who and what she was, how good she was...and who thought that there was no chance she was going to save the day. But...well...after Caleb...she...

Buffy shook her head violently, shaking those thoughts out of her head. “Anyway, what it comes down to is that we have to kill him. You're absolutely sure that taking his head will do it?” She looked at Wesley.

“If it doesn't then we're completely screwed.” Wesley replied. 

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“Lilah.” The voice of Holland Manners came from behind her. “I'm disappointed in you. You had...such promise. I always was sure you had absolutely no conscience. And yet here you are helping the Slayer and her ilk prevent the apocalypse.” He tutted. “I'm usually not such a terrible judge of -” Holland's words were cut off for a moment as Lilah spun around, the sword flowing from her sleeve and slicing   
through Holland. To absolutely no effect. 

“Had to make sure.” Lilah said. “When you're dealing with people who work for Wolfram and Hart...Standard perpetuity and all.” She watched, a smirk on her face as Holland morphed before her, becoming another dead co-worked, Gavin. Gavin/The First looked at her in that characteristic head-tilt of his. Lilah chuckled. “So what are you intending to do? Haunt me to death? Talk at me until I give up? Intimidate me and blow smoke? Be all incorporeal on me and threaten me? Or, what, try and convert me back to the 'dark side'?”

“A little of all of the above.” The First admitted. “But mostly I just like messing with people's heads. Though convincing pitiful little potentials to hang themselves is a whole lot easier than breaking you, I'm sure I can manage it, sooner or later.” He shifted back into Holland Manners. “Besides. I was telling you the truth. You did have such promise.”

“I highly doubt you'd have any opportunity to make me kill myself. I've been dead. Twice. Didn't much like it, either time.” She chuckled again. “And you've figured me all wrong. I still don't give a shit about helping people, or saving lives, not at the end of the day. I'm in this for myself. I happen to like world as it is – good food, good wine, designer clothes, Wesley. The good things in life. Can't really have them if Wolfram and Hart destroys the world, or if you and your little army of Turok-Han overwhelm the entire world and kill humanity. Its selfish, I know, but like I said, I happen to like the world as it is.”

“Pitiful.” Holland/the First spat – verbally, anyway.

“Maybe.” Lilah said with a smile. “But there isn't much you can do about it. All your soldiers of any real value are locked up beneath a seal you've been having trouble opening. All you have to work with is Bringers – and I'd definitely love to shoot more of them, if you have them – and Caleb.” 

“You make it sound as if my good right arm couldn't kill you where you stand.”

“Oh, he certainly could.” Lilah agreed. “But so what? One man is one man, even one that is an immortal and who is clearly on 'The First Steroids'. He can't be everywhere, and look what we – well, I guess you have to cal have to work with – two slayers, two souled vampires, two immortals, whatever the hell Connor is, a witch who has enough power to destroy the world, if she takes a mind to it, and a nice-little army of would-be-slayers. And a magical amulet.”

“Amulet?” The First asked, latching onto that. 

“Yea. Gaudy little thing. Wesley and I stole it from the Wolfram and Hart vaults when I left the place.”

The First actually laughed at that. “Oh! That thing. I can see what the Senior Partners were thinking, but...tricky bastards. I'll have to remember to kill them slowly once I win.” Then, suddenly, it changed the subject. “So, what, you're not the least bit worried about Caleb? Not at all?” It asked this, a smirk forming on its face.

“Why, is he here?” Lilah asked, amused, turning around and looking. There were no signs of anyone but her and the First, however.

“Of course not.” The First scoffed. “He's got much, much bigger fish to fry than other immortals just yet.”

“Of course he does.” Lilah agreed with a smirk. “But you're not planning on depriving him of heads forever, are you? Not to your – what did you call him? 'Your good right arm'? That would just be cruel to him, wouldn't it?”

“Oh, don't worry, Lilah.” The First replied, “Caleb will be coming for your head soon enough. And your precious Wesley's. He doesn't like to leave work undone, and he's put a lot of effort into hunting down the Watchers that didn't die in the bombing. Just your Wesley, and good old Ripper.”

“Wesley would be the first to tell you he's not a Watcher any more. He's quite proud of that, in his own way, I think.”

The First scoffed again, waving an incorporeal hand dismissively. “Details, details. Besides, killing all of you will be part of the more important job of winning here in Sunnydale. You cannot possibly think you can defeat him.”

“Of course we can. Compared to the Beast, Caleb is nothing. He's nothing. Super charged, and nearly impossible to kill? Nothing new at all. He'll be dead by the end of the week.” There was no sense of bravado, or posturing in her tone, or even much inflection at all. Simple statement of fact. Lilah was sure of only a handful of things in this world – really sure, the kind of sure you feel in your bones. How she felt about Wesley, and how Wesley felt about here were two things... the other was that come what may, this fight, here on the Hellmouth, would end in victory. At what cost, and how long, she didn't know, but in her mind, eventual victory was certain. 

Wolfram and Hart knew how to analyze the odds, and play them, and that was part of the reason the Senior Partners had decided that there were far better ways to bring about the apocalypse. Slower and steadier worked. The Watchers Council and the Slayer and a whole manner of independent groups – plus Wolfram and Hart itself, sometimes – had stopped the world from ending over the centuries. Despite how easy it was to end of the world, comparatively speaking, it was also more than possible to prevent that end. Ending the world, when you got right down to it, wasn't anything resembling easy, despite its deceptive level of ease. Buffy Summer's track record proved that. Being at Wolfram and Hart had taught

The First didn't seem convinced by her confidence. “You can't kill him. And even if you could, even if you could defeat my good right arm, defeat Caleb, there's still no way you can win. I am the First Evil. I am beyond time, beyond sin, and I cannot be killed, I cannot be defeated. And I have an army of Turok-Han at my disposal, an army of the vampires that vampires fear-”

Lilah cut him off. “As I said earlier, an army of vampires trapped behind a seal you can't open yourself. Who the hell puts an army of Turok-Han behind a seal, anyway?” She shook her head. “Wait, don't tell me. The Powers that Be actually got off their ass and did something?”

The First shook his head. “Of course not. Don't be absurd. They never do anything. These are the Powers we're talking about. Agents of balance. They didn't need to lock the Turok-Han up, because that stupid blue bitch did already.”

“Blue bitch?” Lilah asked, curiosity getting the better of her. 

“Way before your time. Even the Source Templates won't tell you, so don't bother looking. The Senior Partners didn't like her. At all. They didn't want any reference to her anywhere anyone under their control could find.”

“So, not going to tell me?”

“Definitely not.”

Lilah chuckled, moving on, “But here's the thing. A Turok-Han, at the end of the day, is still a vampire. A vampire that can be killed in all the same ways a vampire can be killed. How do you think a Turok-Han would stand up to a flame thrower? Or maybe we could pop open the seal and pour some napalm down there? You'd be surprised how easy it is to make from common house hold items. See, the world has moved on, and humanity has moved in. The way I see it, you're doomed. Because see, we just defeated one of the Powers that Be. So I'm pretty sure, one way or another, that while we may never actually _kill_ you, in any sense, together, the lot of us, can beat your incorporeal ass.” She smirked. “And than I can get on with my life, before all these do-gooders rub off on me.”

“I'll make sure Caleb kills you slowly.” The First said, vanishing without a sound, leaving no trace that she had just been shooting the breeze with it.

Lilah looked around, just to make sure, then chuckled, finally retracting her collapsible sword. “So...touched a nerve.” She thought aloud, then, more quietly – _I should probably get Wesley to get some flamethrowers here. There's the one Gunn had, but one just isn't enough to take on an endless army of the damn things._ Making a mental note to bring it up with Wesley, she set off back towards 1630 Revello Drive.

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“I don't know Willow...it's just...” Buffy began, sitting next to her friend of seven years. Rarely was she at a loss for words – she always had a quip, even in fights with the living dead. But now... “It's just...I can't see how we can defeat Caleb. And even if we can – and everything we've been through tells me we can...I mean...we beat Glory...if it hadn't been for that...Doc...that would've been that there. But even if...even if we do kill Caleb, do defeat him....” Her voice trailed off. 

“We'll get through this.” Willow said softly. “We have to.” She said. The red-headed witch was confident, but she found herself wishing she felt half as confident as she sounded. 

“He killed one of the potentials. They came to me for protection...and I led them into a fight unprepared...I let Chao-An die. Its...” Buffy's crisis of self-confidence...she shook her head violently, forcing herself to stop dwelling, but it was hard. Still, she had to. “The thing is...even if we kill Caleb...and...let's go with that that, because that's really comforting,” She said, chuckling hollowly, “What then? I feel...I feel lost. The past, its always been so simple. Just go in, stake the vampires, kill the demons...save the world, save a life. That sort of thing. But here...The First...I can't kill him, not in any sense. And...” She sighed. “I haven't told you...anyone, this. But...when I was with the Shadow Men...in that...dimension, or whatever is was...before I left...they showed me something. The First's army, on the other side of that seal. He doesn't just have one Turok-Han, or even a few, or a hundred...he has thousands. Hundreds of thousands, at least. All waiting on the other side of the seal. I...I have no idea how we're going to defeat them. The one...it was hard enough.”

Willow was silent for a minute, though time stretched for the both of them, making it seem like it was much longer for the two friends. Finally, “Buffy...its not your fault. You did what you thought made sense, with what you knew. And its not as if you were the only one who thought going in was a good idea. The only 'person' who is at fault for Chao-An's death is Caleb, if he even qualifies as a person. One way or another, he'll pay. And the First won't win. We've been through too much...all of us.” She said. 

“How do we defeat that many Turok-Han?”

Willow shook her head. “I...I don't know. There's one of Angel's team. The demon, Lorne. He...he might be able to help.” She said. “He's anagogic.”

“Ana-whatsit?”

“Anagogic...it means he can see your destiny, or at least, see...the path you should go on, need to go on. He helps people find their place in life. He's helped Angel a lot in L.A, helping them...with...hints, or something. He might be able to help. The only thing is...it only works if you sing.

Buffy did a double-take. “Wait, sing?”


	22. Time for a Super Weapon

**Disclaimer:** Mine, it is not. Yoda, I sound like. Own him, I do not.

**Author's Note:** Excuses for the lateness, I have none.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 22: Time For a Super Weapon

Buffy only managed to get a few lines off of the song she had chosen – at this point, she was willing to try almost anything if it helped them – before Lorne stopped her.

“Okay...okay.” Lorne said, holding one hand up in an obvious 'stop' gesture, the other holding his temples. “That's enough. You can stop now.”

“She wasn't _that_ bad.” Wesley said. “Better than Angel, anyway.” Wesley ignored Angel's indignant 'Hey!' as he continued. “Or was it too much?”

“Too much,” Lorne said. He turned to look at Buffy. “To be perfectly honest, I didn't see that much. Or at least not that much clearly. A whole lot of images raced in there pretty quickly...but I did see something. A few things.”

“Alright. Tell me. I need to know, Lorne.” Buffy said, almost softly. 

“Well, for starters, you need to go back to the Vineyard.” Lorne said, wincing ahead of time at what he knew the reaction would be.

“What!?” It was Spike who broke first. “We barely made it out of there as intact as we did – hell, one of the potentials did die! That bloody Caleb is not someone we can defeat! Why the bloody hell are you trying to send us off on him so soon?”

“Like I said, I didn't see _all_ that much. At least, not clearly. Flashes of images, quickly, too quick to get a good glimpse at any of them. But there's something there, at the Vineyard – a weapon, or some kind of axe, maybe. Whatever it is, you need it. Its a weapon only you, only a Slayer, can wield.” He paused a moment, then looked at Faith. “Well, I guess not only you.” Lorne paused again, then turned back to Buffy. “You need that axe...weapon. You're not going to be able to win without it. You have to have this weapon.”

“Okay!” Xander said, voice far more lighthearted and amused than he actually felt. “No pressure then.” He chuckled, clearly trying to decrease tension, but his own laugh was quite hollow.

“There's more.” Lorne added, interrupting additional chatter from the others. “There's an...old woman...not a witch...but...” He shook his head, trailing off. “Once you have the weapon, you'll need to – and will be able to – find a pyramid, some kind of temple. Inside there is an old woman. You'll need her help.” With that, Lorne threw up his hands in surrender. “That's all I got.”

Everyone turned to face Buffy, and to Wesley's great surprise, the young woman actually looked pensive, as if she was seriously considering what to do. _Perhaps the previous encounter at the Vineyard has actually instilled some measure of a sense of moderation and caution into the woman. Somehow, though, I doubt it._ However, Wesley was more than self-aware enough to know that his own bitterness – _which I really, really need to get over_ – towards Buffy Summers was coloring his thoughts enough to create or strengthen that doubt.

After a few more minutes, Buffy spoke. “Are you completely sure of this...vision, Lorne? I mean, no possibility you got anything wrong?” 

Lorne shook his head. “No. No chance I got it wrong. I'm absolutely sure of it.” He said firmly.

Buffy thought for another moment, then turned to Wesley. “How long do you think you and Lilah could keep Caleb occupied? I mean, I don't want either of you dead – not yet, we'll need you later – but could you distract him for a few minutes?”

Now it was Wesley's turn to perform some serious thinking. Caleb was orders of magnitude more powerful than either Lilah or him. For that matter, more powerful than the two of them combined. And, to make things worse, he couldn't be injured, not by cuts, and, more importantly, not by bullets. Unlike his fight against Alfonso, Wesley couldn't just fill Caleb full of lead and behead him while he was distracted. At this point, killing him was out of the question.

Distracting him, on the other hand...Caleb may serve the First, but he was an immortal, and immortals like collecting heads. Neither he nor Lilah were great catches, compared to the truly old and powerful immortals, but they would be serviceable enough bait. Wesley imagined out the scenario in his head, plotting out possible outcomes, their likelihood...

“Between the both of us, no more than two minutes.” He answered after several minutes.

“That'll have to do.” Buffy said. “Here's the thing: Going up against Caleb head on is clearly not going to work, and is just going to get more of us killed. But, if we need this weapon to win, then we have to get it, period, end of story. One way or the other. There's no escaping that. Caleb can outfight any one of us. Hell, he can probably outfight all of us. But we don't need to actually defeat him to get past him, to get to this weapon. No matter how powerful he is, he's just one man, and can only be in one place at a time. And, let's face it, his Bringers can't do much to us anyway – they're nuisances at best – in the way of real trouble.” Buffy paused to take a breath. “So, what we need to do then is keep Caleb busy, out of the way, long enough for Faith and me to get past him, and to this weapon Lorne is talking about.” She turned back to the demon. “What does it look like?”

“Red.” Lorne replied. “The whole thing is red. But really, you don't need that. As soon as you can see it, you'll know its what you're looking for. You'll _feel_ it. Whatever it is, it was _made_ for the Slayer. That's what I know.”

“What will the rest of us do while Wes and Lilah distract Caleb, and you and Faith get the weapon?” Angel asked.

“I need you, Spike, Gunn and Xander to deal with the Bringers – make sure they don't slow Faith and me down at all, keep them off us. This entire plan won't work if we can't get to the weapon – or at least get a really good head start – before distracting Caleb becomes a no-go.” 

_My god...the plan is actually a good one._ Wesley thought, amazed. 

Giles spoke finally. “That is a sound plan. Incidentally, and entirely unrelated, I believe I've figured out what purpose that amulet Lilah and Wesley...absconded with from Wolfram and Hart's vaults serves in all of this.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them a moment, more out of nervous habit than anything else.

“Well?” Wesley asked, not quite impatient – yet.

“Yes...essentially, from what I can gather, the Amulet channels the power of the sun through it, directly. With it, even the massive numbers of Turok-Han the...uh... the Shadowmen showed Buffy in her little vision, could be dispatched with...relative ease. And...I believe collapse the Hellmouth. Unfortunately, there are catches. Several, actually.”

“Duh. Its magic.” Spike said. “There's _always_ a catch. So what is it this time?”

“Well...the first thing is that it cannot be wielded by a human, or anything human-like. Lightning Swordsmen are out as well, before you ask.” He told Wesley. “Slayers, Lightning Swordsmen and Humans – no. Vampire – yes. But...said vampire also has to have a soul. So it would either have to be you, or Angel.” He said to Spike. “No one else has a soul and can withstand the power long enough to do any meaningful damage.”

“Alright.” Angel said, before Spike could say anything. “But soul or no, I'm still a vampire, and I can't go out in the daylight-”

“Because you bleeding well destroyed the Gem of Amarra, you magnificent poof!” Spike interjected.

“I can't go out in the daylight.” Angel repeated, ignoring the interruption by his grandchilde, “So how can I channel the power of the sun through that amulet into the Turok-Han without getting destroyed myself?”

“Technically?” Giles asked, cleaning his glasses again. “You can't. Your physical self will be destroyed.” He didn't let either vampire interrupted. “But you won't be completely destroyed. The amulet will...preserve, might be the best word, your spirit, your essence. You won't have a physical form, unfortunately, but we should be able to correct that too.” He said, putting his glasses back on. “My research suggests there is a way to return you back to your physical form once the proper arrangements are made and spells cast.” 

“Wait – what?!” Spike exclaimed. “So if I use that amulet to save the bleeding world, I have to turn into a sodding ghost for a while?”

“More or less. Once the Hellmouth collapses completely...we'll have to go back and dig the amulet back out before we can restore whoever wears it even to a non-corporeal form. But one of you has to do it – no one else here can, as far as I can tell.”

“I'll do it.” Spike and Angel said at virtually the same moment, then turned to eachother and immediately started to argue. 

“Both of you!” Buffy raised her voice over their argument, which had strangely turned into a debate about...cavemen and astronauts, or all things... “Shut up!” Amazingly, both vampires complied. “We can figure out who wears the amulet and gets turned into a ghost later. Hell, you two can play rock, paper scissors for it, I don't really care.” She turned to Giles. “You said that was the first thing. What's the other catch?”

“Not so much a catch, exactly, as much as just an integral part of how it works. The amulet takes time to...activate, effectively. You couldn't just go down there and immediately start throwing the sun at the Turok-Han. I'm not sure _how_ long it would take, but long enough for the Turok-Han to dismember you, certainly, if you were unprotected. So there will have to be a way to keep the Turok-Han off of you – whichever of you ends up wearing the thing – while you prepare.”

“And how is going to be done?” Xander asked. “I mean, you had enough trouble with the one Turok-Han.” There was nothing of the maliciousness in his tone that might have been there had Wesley asked the question.

“One thing at a time.” Buffy said firmly. “Right now, we get the weapon Caleb is...guarding? Then we deal with him, then we figure out what the hell to do about all those Turok-Han underneath the seal.”

“Weapon?” Lilah walked in. “What did I miss?”

“I'll explain.” Wesley said. “Anything else at the moment?”

Buffy shook his head. “No. Daylight's too close for us to go now – Angel and Spike wouldn't be able to get back out of the Vineyard when we're done. Alright. We know what to do, and that's a better position than the one we were in twenty minutes ago.” She nodded. Lilah and Wesley went into the kitchen, and Wesley explained the revelations – about the weapon Caleb was apparently guarding, and the role of the amulet. 

“Two minutes?” Lilah said, then, after a minute, nodded. “We can probably give her that much time. By the way, I think I know a way to hold the Turok-Han off from Spike or Angel, when they're wearing the amulet. Flamethrowers.”

“Flamethrowers?”

“Flamethrowers.” Lilah repeated. “Couldn't you get them from Emil?”

“Probably. But that would be expensive, and it would take time to get a large number. Still, even half a dozen could be enough, applied properly. But the money I stole from Alfonso's accounts won't stretch forever.”

“Have Giles pay.” Lilah said. “I mean, he has to have access to at least some of the Watchers' old accounts. They have almost as much money tucked away as the L.A. Branch did. Nothing compared to all of Wolfram and Hart, but still, a fortune by any reasonable standards. The Council probably could have bought a small country.”

“They have, actually, in the past.” Wesley commented. He looked around for Giles, and found him heading out of the other room. “Giles. A word please?” The older man looked over at them, shrugged, and then headed over. 

“Yes?”

“Do you have access to any of the Council's accounts?” Wesley asked. 

“I might be able to get access to one of the smaller ones.” Giles said. “It could take weeks, or months, to get legal access to one of the larger accounts.”

“We don't have time for that.” Wesley agreed.

“Why do you ask?”

“Lilah had an idea, as to how we could better fight the Turok-Han. Flamethrowers. I know an arms dealer who can get us at least a a handful, but it's prohibitively expensive. I don't have the resources to acquire them on my own, but they could be highly useful in our fight.”

Giles pondered, “Buffy won't like it.”

“Buffy used a rocket launcher to defeat the Judge. She may not like modern weaponry, but she'll use it if someone makes a strong enough case, or the need is dire.” 

“Maybe. Either way, you're right. They'd definitely be useful. I'll see what I can do.” Wesley nodded at the older man, who left to head upstairs.

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“Back for more, then, are you?” Caleb said with a chuckle, as he saw them approaching. 

“Of course they are.” The First, as usual wearing Buffy's form. “She's determined. Stubborn. And a stupid little girl. Just what plays into my hands – and the hands of my good right arm.”

“I hear a lot of talking from you, First, and still, no action.” Buffy chirped, twirling a stake in her hand.

“A lot of sound and fury from a slip of a dirty girl who can't even kill a humble preacher.” Caleb said. “The First doesn't need to do anything, long as I'm here to give you and yours the killing you all so richly deserve.”

“Don't start quoting scripture, please.” Buffy replied. Faith walked up to stand next to her at the base of the stairs, Caleb between them and the rest of the basement. 

“Ready, B?” Faith asked, looking at the other Slayer, also twirling a stake.

“Ready as I'll ever be.” Without telegraphing their moves, both sprung into the air, flipping over Caleb's head, landing on their feet and not even bothering to turn to face him, they ran farther into the Vineyard.

“Well, at least you're making a sport of it.” Caleb said happily. “Deal with the rest of them, boys!” He called to the Bringers, who came out of the shadows and rushed at Wesley, Lilah, Gunn, Xander, Spike and Angel. The two immortals cleared themselves an immediate path with their guns, before running through the gap at Caleb, who was already chasing after the Slayers.

Wesley swung his sword at the preacher. No luck. With impossible speed and awareness, Caleb turned around, bringing his arm, catching the blade on his forearm. The edge bit through the sleeve of his outfit and maybe a millimeter into the preacher's flesh, but the moment Wesley pulled his blade away, blue lightning danced across the wound, closing it. Lilah swung at him in the same moment Wesley pulled his blade away, her attack going for Caleb's side, but her target blocked the attack with his other arm. 

“You're not even going to let me grab a sword?” Even as Caleb spoke, one of the Bringers tossed him a thick, heavy broadsword, which he caught deftly.

“As we explained last time we had the occasion to engage in a nice little chat,” Lilah said, swinging again, “We're not big on the 'fair' part of 'fair fight'.”

“No, you really aren't, are you?” Caleb chuckled. “Fortunately, neither am I.” Another Bringer tossed him another broadsword, which he caught just as easily in his free hand. Wesley and Lilah stepped back instinctively as he began to spin both blades like wheels to the sides. Wesley kicked a small wine-barrel at Caleb, who sliced it in half with one of the spinning blades, the wood clattering to the ground, the wine splashing over him harmlessly.

“I didn't account for this. Did you?” Wesley asked Lilah hurriedly, blocking a swing from one sword, even as the lawyer ducked under an attack with the other sword.

“Nope.” Lilah replied tersely. She went under Caleb's guard and stabbed at his stomach. The blade drove in maybe an inch, at best. Caleb swung with his opposite blade, catching Lilah on the shoulder, and she recoiled back, ripping the sword out with her. The wound immediately was covered with blue lightening and healed. Indeed, so too was Lilah's wound, though ever so slightly slower than Caleb's. “Still, I think we can make it through.” 

Both of them blocked new swings, the sheer force of the blades, of Caleb's strength combined with the weight of the broadswords sending painful vibrations down the blades and into their arms. Wesley gritted his teeth and kicked out at Caleb – all he got for his trouble was an intense flash of pain in his foot for a moment. 

“Too bad, both of you!” Caleb said. “Looks like I'll be taking your heads-” Lilah shot him twice in the chest, and he paused for a second, staggering back maybe half a foot. Still, the wounds did no lasting damage. “Again with the guns, Lilah. Does it really serve any purpose to keep wasting ammunition?”

“It does now.” She replied, diving behind a row of barrels and pushing them over, into Caleb. He managed to avoid them, but in the crucial seconds he was distracted, Wesley and Lilah both made their escape. When Caleb looked up again, he found them on the other side of a mass of bringers, locked in combat with two of them. And that's when it dawned on Caleb. He didn't see either Slayer here.

“The clever little bitch.” Caleb said softly, his tone almost admiring. He went into the fray, swords at the ready, and forced his way through the bringers to Spike. He slashed the swords into the vampire's chest, making him stagger back as blood spurted outward and upward from the blonde vampire's body. Spike fell back, but was caught before he hit the floor by Angel. “Two vampires for the price of one.” Caleb said with a chuckle. “This'll be a treat.” He raised one blade up, aiming for Angel-

Caleb dropped both swords as fiery pain exploded across his back, almost blinding him for a moment. He staggered forward a step, and Angel hit him in the back of his neck, and he fell to the ground, flat in his face.

Buffy stood over him, a red axe-like weapon in hand. She tapped the handle into her palm a moment. “Step away from the vampires, _padre._ ” She brought the weapon up in her hands and made to swing down at Caleb's neck, but he managed to roll to the side and the cut just hit his upper arm as he jumped to his feet. The pain in his back remained intense...and the cut wasn't healing at all, neither was the one in his arm...

_The power of the Scythe..._ “It looks like you win this ground, darling.” Caleb said with a chuckle. 

“Not just this round.” Buffy said firmly, jumping at him – and instead the weapon cleaved a Bringer in two, head to crotch. She went at the First's agent again, but several Bringer's once more got in the way, and Caleb ran for the stairs. Loyal to the first he was, but he also knew when he'd lost a round. 

“You haven't won the war yet, Buffy.” He said from the top of the stairs. “It's hardly over yet!” He ran out the door.

“Did that thing just stop a Lightening Swordsman from using his healing abilities?” Angel asked. 

“I think it did.” Wesley replied softly.

“'Need it to win' indeed.” Lilah added. “Know you know how to kill Caleb.” 

“That I do.” Buffy agreed, running her hand over the weapon a moment. It felt _right_ in her hands.

**Next Time, on Dead Man Walking:** _With a new weapon in the fight against Caleb in, the Scoobies and AI Team meet an old woman who has watched the Slayer Line for centuries, and learn the true power of what they have found - but after good luck, bad luck often follows. What will the forces of the First throw at Buffy next?_


	23. The Temple of the Guardian

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Angel the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Highlander the Series.

**Author's Note:** No real excuses for the delay. Just, RuneScape took over my life and all. Sorry 'bout that. Its much shorter than I'd like, but I want this chapter done and up. So I just broke it in half, essentially, from what I planned to put in.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 23: The Temple of the Guardian

“Okay, so shooting this guy doesn't work, cutting at him with anything even remotely normal doesn't work, but pull a shiny red axe out of a stone and it hurts him like he's a normal human being?” Gunn asked. “And they only had one? 'cause I gotta get me one of those.”

“Just the one.” Faith said, taking it from Buffy, who handed it over reluctantly. She stepped away from everyone else and gave it an experimental swing. “Damn this thing amps you up.” She commented quietly, as if to herself.

“You were right Lorne.” Buffy said. “This thing. This weapon. It really was made for me – made for a Slayer, anyway.”

“But they weren't expecting two, I take it?” Xander asked. 

“Obviously not.” Buffy replied. “Holding it though...its like...drinking a whole lot of coffee at once, or something. You have it in your hands and you're bursting with energy, ready to take on anything. And apparently, you really are.” She looked at Wesley and Lilah. “So how is it that this thing hurts Caleb? Why didn't he heal, like he did those other times?”

“To be perfectly honest, I have no idea.” Wesley replied. 

“I'd say it has something – everything really – to do with the First.” Lilah said. “Caleb isn't just a regular immortal – his Quickening _feels_ wrong.” She actually shuddered ever so slightly. “He is – or was – a regular immortal, at some point. Had to be. But the First...powers him up. Makes him stronger, faster, better. The impossibly fast healing has to be from the First too. I'm guessing that where his normal Quickening ends and the First's power-up ends is a little unclear. Or that they're both completely entwined. But whatever the reason, that axe must cancel out the First's power in him, and somehow messes with his Quickening as well. You have found, as far as I can tell, the weapon that can kill Caleb.”

“So I don't need to cut off his head?”

“Oh, I'd do that too, for good measure.” Lilah answered. “I don't think the wound will never heal. Just much slower.”

“Though, if I were you, I'd try to refrain from removing his head around either of us.” Wesley added. “I can't imagine what his Quickening would do to either of us, tainted by the First as it is.” At the quizzical looks on their faces, Wesley elaborated. “When one immortal kills another, or is just near the death of another immortal, they absorb the Quickening, and the power, of their fallen fellow. And they get a glimpse of their memories, their life. They tend to fade rather quickly, but I still remember a few bits and pieces of the life of the immortal I killed over the summer, when he attacked me. Some call it 'the Game', and believe there is some kind of prize for the last one of us standing. But absorbing as much power as Caleb has within him, the life of evil he must have led – add into that the taint of the First...” Wesley shook his head. “I shudder to think what that might do to either of us. And I'd rather not find out.”

“Okay, so we know all this, and we've found the weapon that should save the day for us. So what do we do now? Find Caleb and kill him?” Cordelia asked. 

“I'll all on board with that.” Faith said, and she was echoed in one way or another by most of the others in the room – Angel, Spike, Giles, Willow, Gunn, Xander, Fred, Anya, Lilah and another man Wesley hadn't met until a bit ago, Robin Wood, son of Nikki Wood.

The only three who didn't voice the idea of tracking down and killing Caleb – or voice agreement with that idea – were Buffy, Lorne and Wesley.

“I don't think so – not yet.” Buffy said softly. “Charging in blind – even well armed – isn't going to do us any good...I think I've gotten that, from what's happened before.” She looked at Lorne. “That Pyramid, with the old woman, that you saw when I sang earlier. Can you tell where it is?”

Lorne shook his head. “Nothing beyond the fact that it's in Sunnydale.”

“Which is more ground than we can reasonably cover, in our current situation.” Wesley noted. “Whatever is in there – whoever that old woman is – Lorne didn't see it in Buffy's aura for no reason.” Angel had to nod there.

“What Lorne reads off people doesn't always make sense at first,” 

“You're telling me.” Lorne muttered, wishing, not for the first time, he had a good sea-breeze handy. Between every crisis since the Beast had shown up, he'd only had one once. 

“But it always works out, in the end.” Angel finished. “I didn't think about that, I admit.” Some of the others looked a little doubtful, but no one made any noises of protest. Giles rubbed his forehead a moment, then:

“I can consult my books, do some research. There has to be a reason why a weapon as powerful as that was hidden in a vineyard, of all places.” He looked at Wesley, “Perhaps the Source Templates have something to work with as well?” Then, “Oh, and yes, before I forget.” Giles looked at Buffy again. “I managed to get access to one of the Council's smaller accounts. Not much, I admit, but something to work with. Lilah had the idea of procuring Flamethrowers, to help deal with the Turok-Han.”

Buffy didn't say anything for a moment, then looked at Xander and Willow, clearly wondering what they thought. Xander didn't say anything – neither did Willow – but... _Telepathy_? Wesley wondered, then after a few moments more, Buffy said:

“Alright.” She nodded.

_Amazing._ “While we're on the subject, anyone here know how to make Napalm?” Wesley asked. 

“Me.” Willow said immediately, then looked around as nearly everyone looked at her questioningly. “Back with the Initiative, and Adam. I looked into it as a way to possibly kill Adam, or his army. Its actually pretty easy to make from common house hold items. Well, easy for what it is, anyway.” 

Fred nodded. “She's right.”

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

Willow and Fred, for safety's sake, moved the production of the Napalm down into the basement of another one of the now numerous abandoned homes across Sunnydale, this one right next door.

Wesley and Giles, as well as some others, were trying to determine more about the pyramid and the axe, while Buffy, Faith, Angel and Spike went on to training the potentials some more. 

Giles set down one of his texts on the history of Sunnydale and looked up. “The vineyard wasn't always just a vineyard.” He said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them again, the glasses themselves irrelevant to the speaking prop. He put them back on. “Back in the days of the Spanish Mission here, it was a monastery affiliated with the Mission. The...Brothers of the Protecting Blessed Virgin.” He read off the name. “If I'm reading between the lines correctly, the monks there actually spent much of their time fighting vampires and demons, rather than simply praying or making wine. Though they did that as well.”

Wesley set the Source Template he was working with at the moment and picked up another one. “Brothers of the Protecting Blessed Virgin.” He said into it. He opened the book. “It doesn't have much.” Wesley said, quickly paging through the Latin text.

“Not surprising that they'd have little on a-”

“Here's something.” Wesley interrupted Giles. “On the night of June 21st, 1562, the Brothers all received a vision, an old woman in a strange tomb-like structure, holding some kind of axe. The woman told them, speaking in Latin, that they must come to a 'pyramid' to the south and take the axe she held. The brothers, believing they'd received a vision from an Angel of the Lord, sent some of their number to investigate, following some rather specific instructions,” Wesley looked up from the book, “It doesn't say what those instructions were, unfortunately. But, anyway,” He returned to reading from the text. “Eventually, the found a pyramid, about the size of a house. They comment that the structure was marked with...of all things, Ancient Greek script and symbolism, looking like some 'pre-christian temple to the heathen gods of the pagans'.” Wesley quoted. “Some of them wanted to turn around, but eventually they went inside, and saw the old woman. She gave them the weapon, practically ordering them to take it and hide it, keeping it safe for when 'She comes to collect it'. Apparently, she managed to impress the need of this upon the monks quite well, and they obeyed, having a new chamber dug out beneath the monastery, and the weapon placed there, inside it.” He looked up again. “The old woman called the weapon, 'The Scythe of the Slayer.'”

“Oh.” Giles said softly. “Oh my.” He shook his head gently a moment. “I suppose we should tell Buffy and Faith. They'll want to go to this pyramid, tomb, thing, themselves.”


	24. Bloody Brilliant Plan

**Disclaimer:** If I own Buffy and Angel and Highlander, then obviously I'm Joss Whedon, and whoever it is that owns Highlander. So what would I be doing writing Fanfiction?

**Author's Note:** I've never been very good at fight scenes, so I especially don't do the one later in this chapter justice. Sorry in advance.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 24: Bloody Brilliant Plan

It had, Wesley admitted to himself, taken a little longer to get to this...temple...tomb....pyramid......thing than he had anticipated. It was bothering him just a little – he was never a fan of being wrong, even about the little things. But what was bothering him more was just how hard it was to make neither heads nor tails of the place they had found. It was a pyramid, which, contrary to various fringe theories, was not exactly abnormal to find in the 'New World' or difficult to explain why they had been built. But it was a pyramid built in no style that the native peoples of the Americas had built. Then again, the woman inside had spoken Latin, so it wasn't that hard to believe she'd reside in a building foreign to the area she lived, here in California.

What was really bothering him about the pyramid was that he couldn't make much sense of the writings inscribed on the external walls structure itself. At least, not without at least a dozen reference books and several days. The former he hadn't brought with him, and they really didn't have the latter to spare. As both Cordelia and Willow had pointed out earlier that day, the annual apocalypse in Sunnydale – which you could virtually set your calendar to, it was so punctual – was drawing closer and closer. Whatever the specifics of the First's big, final plan were, the plan was probably going to be put in mption soon. They didn't have time to waste on the admittedly fascinating-looking writings on the pyramid.

And, of course, the writings wouldn't be so crucial if the structure had a door they could just open, or walk through. But apparently, in the time since the Monks had been here, they door had vanished, or been hidden, or something.

Completely fed up at this point, the Immortal ex-Watcher decided to stop thing rationally and just go with the cliché: “Open Sesame!” He intoned loudly, spreading his arms grandly. And, unsurprisingly, there was no sign that it worked. The door – if there was one – remained stubbornly hidden. 

Faith chuckled. “Well, I guess that was worth a try.”

“I don't see you helping.” Wesley snapped back irritably.

“Hey, I'm here to kill things and look good. Not to solve the fancy puzzles. That's what you and Giles are for.”

Giles smiled a little ruefully. “Frankly, I'm as much at my wits end as Wesley appears to be. Though I wasn't thinking _Arabian Nights_ , so much as Lord of the Rings.” He turned back to the structure and spoke, slowly and precisely, “ _Mellon_.” 

Buffy and Faith both got a kick out of that. Faith, out of lack of things to do in Prison, had actually read the Lord of the Rings – the Prison library had had a copy of the series. Buffy had seen the first movie. She hadn't had a chance to see the other two yet – understandable, given the situations life had put her in recently.

The four watched without much surprise as there was no sign of anything opening. Wesley muttered an oath in Assyrian. “We don't have time for this.” He grit his teeth, then scoffed. “We may as well just kick and punch at the thing at this point, as a way to get in.”

Faith shrugged her shoulders. She stepped closer, mostly out of boredom...but as she drew close to the building, several of the writings started to glow. Faith stopped walking, staring a moment. The four of them heard a grinding sound, and slowly, part of the wall began to slide down, into the ground. Soon enough, they had a door. 

“Not a password, apparently. But a Key. A slayer.” Wesley remarked. “Lead on.” He told the Slayers. Faith rolled her eyes a little, but went inside, followed close by Buffy. Giles went in next, and Wesley took up the rear.

The hallway ended in a short set of stairs that brought them down into another room. And there stood the woman written of by the monks. She looked....beyond old, really. Thin, short, withered, wrinkled. Her hair was almost...threadbare, and white. Not just gray, or white-gray, but pure, completely white. The woman looked up when they entered. 

Buffy and Faith both felt a strange sense of...calmness pass over them. Not quite a serenity, but approaching that. Unconsciously, the two Slayers stepped forward.

“I'd forgotten how young you would be.” She said softly, her voice sounding as old as she looked. She tilted her head a moment. “Comes from the waiting. The mind plays tricks on you.” She nodded at the weapon in Buffy's hands. “I see you've found our weapon. A small part of me always wondered if giving it to those monks would work out as my visions told me.”

“Who...Who are you?” Buffy asked quietly.

“The last of many. My sisters and I...we created this weapon in secret, many, many years ago. I've lost track, I admit. Thousands, at least.” She smiled wryly. “I suppose, I look good for my age.” She glared at Giles and Wesley. “Created in secret so as to be hidden from the Shadowmen. Who you bring with you.”

“Ex-Shadowman, thank you very much.” Wesley cut in tersely.

“Giles is okay. Most of the time.” Faith said. “And Wesley technically isn't one any more. Besides, he is...” Her voice trailed off, unsure of the right words. 

“Useful?” Wesley offered.

“Works.” Faith agreed. 

“I met the Shadowmen.” Buffy said. “I can't say I cared much for them. But Giles isn't one of them.”

“The Shadowmen became the Watchers, who watched the Slayers. But who watches the watcher?” She answered her own question. “We did. We are the Guardians of the Slayer Line. We created that weapon, the Scythe, the ultimate weapon of the Slayer. It was used it to kill the last Old One in this realm. But we knew that the Shadowmen could not be trusted with its power. So we kept it secret, and in time, came here, to await this moment. It is the weapon that you will-” The Guardian cut herself off for a moment. “I'm sorry? What's you're name?”

Buffy answered first. “Buffy.”

“No, really?” The Guardian, like everyone else, had trouble with that at first. Buffy shrugged. The guardian took that as a 'yes.'

“I'm Faith.” The other Slayer supplied. 

She narrowed her eyes a moment. “As good a time to ask, now: How are there two of you, anyway?”

“A long story involving drowning, CPR and a really ugly vampire.” Buffy answered. “I don't think we really have time to go into it now.”

The woman – the Guardian – nodded. “Perhaps not. The First Evil is finally enacting its plan, is it not? Its champion is here, and it marshals its forces, to bring forth its armies of the dead.”

“Pretty much. How did you-?” Buffy started.

“There's a reason I've been waiting here for so long.” The Guardian replied. “The Seers warned that this day would come. Ever since the Shadowmen forced the spirit of a demon into Sineya and created the first Slayer, the Guardians have watched them, serving the Slayer, rather than the Shadowmen, as they would have the Slayer do.”

“I assure you, madame, there is nothing I place higher than Buffy's well-being. Even my own life.” Giles interrupted, after clearing his throat. 

“I'm tempted to say a few words in defense of the Council, but given the company, I think I'll pass.” Wesley said dryly.

Buffy glared at him a moment, then turned back to the Guardian. “Please, go on.”

“Before you do that,” Faith cut in, “You said that's a Scythe, right? Now, I'm not an expert, but that looks more like an axe than something the Grim Reaper would be carrying around.”

“Right you are,” They heard Buffy say...but coming from behind the Guardian. The Guardian turned in surprise. The First shrugged, still wearing Buffy's form. “I always wondered about that. But then, logic and brainpower hasn't been something the good guys have ever really been strong on, has it?” 

Wesley felt a tingle up his spine. “Caleb is here.” He grabbed the Guardian's wrist and pulled her away towards the side of the room. The old woman squawked indignantly for a moment. “Shut up! You haven't told us everything we need to know, and I'd rather not you get killed by an insane preacher before that happens.”

“Too bad, then.” Caleb drawled, stepping into the room. Giles took the opportunity to make a slightly undignified run for another edge of the room. He was no coward, but he knew his limits. The immortal priest lifted a heavy two-handed sword. A claymore. “Who's up first, then?” He said with a laugh. Wesley produced his collapsible sword, loosening it from its holder, then tossed it to Faith.

“Faith!” He called. The dark-haired slayer turned and caught the weapon. 

“I'm up for a rematch.” Faith said, hefting the blade a moment. 

“So am I.” Buffy replied, swinging the scythe a moment. “Especially now that we have something that can hurt you.”

“Two on one ain't fair.” Caleb said, trying to affect a slight whine in his voice. 

“Fair is for fools.” Faith said. Without another word, she lunged at him, aiming for his legs. _Hurt him? No. Distract him a tiny bit? Maybe._ Her attack didn't even connect with Caleb, who stepped back agilely, not even missing a beat as he kicked out at Faith right after. The dark Slayer didn't miss her next move in the 'dance' either, pulling the blade away from the Preacher, managing to keep it in her grip, as opposed to his intent.

“You're a super-charged immortal, and you're talking about fair?” Buffy quipped as she swung at him the 'Scythe', wielding it like an axe, one hand at the base of the haft, the other right next to the blade. Caleb caught the weapon on the top of the handle, wrenching it from one of Buffy's hands. He punched at her with his other fist. Buffy managed to dodge, but in the process her other hand lost its grip on the Scythe.

The weapon was not completely in Caleb's hands. He didn't show it, but he could feel the power within it, tearing at the mystic energy the First had lent him. Unceremoniously, he tossed the weapon away, some feet behind him.

Buffy spared perhaps a second to look Faith in the eye and nod. Something passed between the two Slayers, an almost instinctive understanding. The three combatants stood then, all eying eachother, as if waiting for someone else to make the next move. 

Caleb 'blinked' first. “And now, its time to die.” As he spoke, he lunged at Faith. The dark slayer tossed the blade over to Buffy, dropping down a split second before Caleb would have grabbed her. Fluidly, she rolled between his legs, removing him as an obstacle to the Scythe. 

Caleb missed a beat this time, but only one, and carried through on the lunge, staggering a bit when Faith vanished, but turning to go at Buffy, kicking her legs out from under her. With a slight yelp, Buffy hit the ground. Faith, the Scythe's energy coursing through her, leapt at Caleb. Fortunately, the preacher turned rapidly and dealt Faith a viscous punch to the stomach that sent staggering back, doubled over. Grinning, he ignored Buffy, going at Faith with the broadsword he'd been neglecting. 

Still on the floor, Buffy sliced into the back of Caleb's left knee. Immortal and impossibly fast healing, among other things, Caleb might be, but he was still human. Humanish, anyway. His body was wired like a human one, at least. Which is to say, he felt pain, and his leg buckled under him. He fell to one knee, his sword clanging against the stone floor, digging in a bit and sending micro-fractures across its surface for some distance. Faith recovered her wind, and, as Caleb started to stand up, cut Caleb across the top of his back, then tossed the Scythe to Buffy, who caught it and tossed the sword back to Faith.

_This is_ my _kill_. She swung with the Scythe again, cutting into his left leg. Caleb made no noise, but he fell back to the ground, finding his balance and getting back to his knees shakily just in time to be cut again, across the back – again. Once you got them down and kept them down, it wasn't that hard to finish the job. 

The sound of....dozens? of pairs of feet running towards the tomb entrance gave Buffy a moment's pause. _Bringers? Fuck that. I'm not letting Caleb live through this._ She pulled back the Scythe for another mighty swing. The preacher had a moment to stand back up, which he did, leg and back cut, yes, but he wasn't the good right arm of the First Evil for nothing. He hefted his sword again...

The last thing Caleb saw, turning to face Buffy once more, was the Scythe, coming at his neck. 

“Oh shit.” Wesley muttered, as Caleb's head flew from his shoulders, and the decapitated body fell to its knees, then flat on the ground. He braced himself for the Quickening. _This is probably going to be painful._

But it didn't come. Blue Lightening didn't come out of the body. Rather, a thick black...mist. It rose up form the corpse, like the stink off rotted meat, curling like smoke. The First, who had, while wearing the appearance of Buffy, watched the fight with some amusement, had a look of consternation as Caleb died. The mist drifted slowly towards it, vanishing as it connected with the ancient embodiment of all things evil.

“Well. This. Just. Sucks.” The First said, frowning. Then, it shrugged Buffy's shoulders. “You killed my good right arm. But then, at the end of the day, I can live without an arm.” The air rippled a moment, and Caleb was standing there once again, not ten feet from his dead body. “After all, I have an army.” Bringers burst into the room, coming in through the hallway. 

“Can't do much with an army when its coming in like that.” Wesley said with a chuckle. “And,” He added, as Buffy and Faith sliced and diced the Bringers with ease, “If that's the kind of tactics we can expect to see with your army of Turok-Han, I'm not sure what we have to worry about.” 

The First didn't say anything. It just vanished as the last bringer fell. They were a small, forward moving pile of robed corpses, actually only just a dozen or so of them. Buffy twirled the Scythe for a moment, still amped up on its energy, and the fight, then turned back to the Guardian. She knew the fight would really catch up to her soon, but she didn't have time to worry about that just yet.

“Okay, now, you were saying something before we got interrupted. About the Scythe.” 

“I was.” The Guardian paused, gathering her thoughts a moment. “The Scythe is a mighty weapon, yes, but there is something even greater that it can be used for. It is attuned the power of the Slayer, in a way that's really, to be honest, impossible to describe...but...” She paused a moment, then, “You can use its connection with the Slayer Essence to activate the potential within every girl who could become a Slayer. Across the world. An army of Slayers.”

Buffy and Faith both looked like deer in the headlights at that. A lot to process.

“That's...” Wesley was little better.

“Its bloody brilliant, is what it is.” Giles said softly, a little awe in his voice. “It goes against centuries – millennia – of tradition, completely overturns the fight against the forces of darkness...and...its a bloody brilliant plan.”


	25. The Great Activation

**Disclaimer:** Next verse, same as the first.

**Author's Note:** We're nearing the end of Dead Man Walking. This chapter and then two more chapters after it, if everything goes like I'm thinking.

Thanks to Oxnate, my beta. As ever, he's been a great help.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 25: The Great Activation

“So, how exactly is this going to work? Is there a spell, or a ritual, or what?” Wesley asked once they were back in 'Command and Control', and the 'war room', as Buffy Summers' house had essentially become. “How exactly does this whole 'activating all the Slayers' thing work?”

Apart from the five who had come back from the temple/pyramid/place, only Willow had joined this particular meeting, around the Summer's dining room table. Along the way, Giles had made the very cogent suggestion to Buffy – quietly – that it perhaps was not a good idea to bring Angel and/or Spike into a position to meet the Guardian just yet. Others who might have been brought into a meeting like this were busy with other things – helping to train the potentials, working on more Napalm, in Fred's case, et cetera, et cetera.

“It is simply a spell. But it is a spell that I do not have the power to cast. Not alone, and certainly not with my advanced age.” The Guardian answered. “But there is one at this table that does have the power required.” She turned to Willow. “You.”

“Wait- me?!” Willow was disbelieving. “Why would you...”

“You cannot deny your power, Willow.” The Guardian said softly. She wore a sage expression. “I can feel your power, and it is both real, and great. The power is part of you, and to deny it is to deny part of yourself.”

Giles coughed, clearing his throat and drawing attention. He spoke, his tone a little awkward. “I hate to bring up...old wounds, as it were, but you did have the power, last year, to defeat the collective power I borrowed from the Devon Coven. Granted...it was borrowed power, and I didn't have anywhere near the practical skill you did in using that power in direct combat, but still, to defeat that much power, it takes rare power. Then, to add to that display of might and skill, you went on to nearly destroy the world by means of raising the Temple of Proxpersa. As bad as both those things were, in a moral and preservation of the world sense, the very fact that you accomplished them is proof positive of your power.”

Willow bit her lip, looking down at the table as Giles brought up her 'exploits' as 'Dark Willow'. It was true that she had accomplished all that...but only because she was so far into the magics, into dark magics, that she had become, in essence, an entirely different person. Sitting where she was right now, she didn't want to be that person again. 

It was also true, however, she considered, that she hadn't gotten anywhere near that dark since her return from her 'rehab' with the Devon Coven. Even with the amount of power she'd channeled with the Shadow Puppets, and the portal that came of them, and trying to call Buffy back, she hadn't gone dark. Of course...that was probably a great deal less than the kind of power the Guardian was talking about as well...

_But this needs to be done. An army of uber-vampires is right beneath our feet, and this is the best way – probably the only way to stop it...._

“Willow...” Buffy started slowly. “You don't have to-”

“I'll do it.” Willow interrupted. “I'll cast the spell.” She looked at the Guardian.”How do I do it?”

The Guardian stood. “Follow me. There is much I have to teach you, in the little time I have left in this world.” She turned to Buffy. “Is there a place where I may speak with Willow in private? Where we cannot be overheard by unwanted ears?” She glared at Wesley and Giles as she said this. 

“Yes, of course, because there's so _much_ damage we can do from overhearing you.” Wesley snapped. “Leaving aside the fact that we're on the same side.”

“Slayers and Shadowmen have never been on the same side.” The Guardian snapped. Giles seemed about to add in something himself when Buffy interrupted. 

“You can all have this argument some other time. When the end of the world isn't potentially imminent!” She turned to the Guardian. “You can take Willow upstairs. Shouldn't be anyone up there at the moment. Pick a room and get on it.” The Guardian nodded, and she and Willow departed. 

“Don't take what I'm about to say the wrong way, because I'm all for activating all the Slayers – at the very least, it seems to be the best option we have – but shouldn't we think about this a little before we actually do it?” Wesley said slowly. 

“If you're for doing it, what's the issue you're trying to bring up, Wes?” Faith asked. 

“Well, first of all, all the potentials, once activated, will need some time to train, to get used to their increased strength. Admittedly, we don't have the copious amounts of time we could really use, but we can't just activate them and then go into the Hellmouth, past the Seal, and expect to just fight the massive army of Turok-Han. Even with thirty plus Slayers, that is still thousands of Turok-Han for each girl. No matter how fast they are at killing the creatures, there is a finite limit to how long even the most skilled fighter can be completely surrounded and still live through the fight. Especially against something like a Turok-Han.”

“So what, you're saying is that its hopeless?” Giles demanded.

“No. I'm saying we'll need to make a plan. Detailed. With fall-back options and tactical scenarios planned out. The First's resources are not limited to just the Turok-Han. If a couple of hundred Bringers suddenly attack from behind, what then? We need to make a plan, and we need to make it before we see to it that that army of Turok-Han is destroyed.”

Giles pursed his lips in thought for a moment, then nodded. “As much as I hate to admit it, Buffy, Wesley has a point. We need to at least have some kind of plan before we make that final move.”

Buffy nodded after a few minutes. “Alright. We'll work on that. But we need to get everyone up to speed with what we just found out.” She paused a moment. “Besides, I think I need some time to...to really process all this.” Then she shrugged. “But hey, Caleb is dead!” She added, her tone almost cheery. Then she sighed. The sigh said all that needed to be said – no further words were required.

Wesley got up, resting his hands on the table for a moment. “Well, if that's all then, I will head over across the street to spread the good news. The gospel according to Buffy, as it were.” The former watcher chuckled half-darkly at that.

“Hey, you rose from the dead, just like Jesus.” Faith said, fighting back laughter.

“Perhaps we could call the Catholic Church. Get you beatified.” Giles said, playing along. 

The joke was ruined when Giles was forced to stop and explain what exact the concept of 'beatification' was to Buffy and Faith. As that was going on, Wesley stood, nodded goodbye to the three of them, and left the house. A short walk across the street later, and he was in the living room of the house occupied by the 'Angel Investigations Team'.

Only Lorne, Fred, Lilah and Gunn were in the room when he entered.

“Where are Angel, Conner and Cordelia?” He asked sitting on the couch next to Cordelia.

“Angel and Cordelia went out on patrol together, and I think Conner said something about going to help train the potentials.” Lorne answered.

“Probably just wants to look at all the hot teenage girls.” Gunn said with a smirk. Fred elbowed him in the ribs slightly. He looked at her. “Hey, I never said I did. Besides, my girls got looks and brains. Why would I want one of those girls.” He smiled. Fred smiled back, and Wesley rolled his eyes as Gunn kissed her lightly.

Lorne watched the two with a faint look of amusement on his face, then he turned back to Wesley. “I don't need to hear you sing to know something big has happened.”

“Is it that obvious?” Wesley asked dryly.

“Your aura is screaming itself hoarse about it, Wes.” Lorne replied. “What happened at that pyramid-temple...place.”

Wesley cocked his head and considered a moment. “I guess its hardly surprising that my aura would be making a big deal about it. After all, Caleb is dead. Buffy took his head off with the axe – apparently, it is supposed to be a Scythe.”

“He's _dead_?!” Lilah asked, voice raised with incredulity. “Did you-”

“No.” Wesley shook his head. “His quickening...or at least, what had to have been it, merged with the First. I didn't absorb any of it. And frankly, seeing it come out of him, that strikes me as a good thing.”

“Well that's a win then, isn't it?” Fred asked slowly. “The First's big invulnerable champion is dead.”

“It _is_ a win.” Wesley agreed. “But-” He started.

“The First still has got that army of super-vamps.” Gunn finished. He leaned in a bit and place his right fist inside a half-curled left hand, somewhat unconscious about the motion. “So what are we going to do about them anyway?”

“Well, that's the other thing we found out at the pyramid. The scythe was made, apparently, by a group of women calling themselves the 'guardians of the Slayer Line' They didn't – don't – like watchers, apparently. One of them is still alive, and she was waiting in the pyramid. For a few thousand years.”

“Is she Immortal? Like you and Lilah?” Fred asked.

“Not that I could tell.” Wesley said. “I can only presume some ancient and powerful magics are at work. But its what the woman told us that is particularly important.” He leaned in a little, not really noticing as he mimicked the earlier motion of Gunn's. “For thousands of years, there has been but one Slayer, fighting alone against the forces of Darkness. Even the twinning of the Slayer Line by Xander Harris left it at two. Far from enough to fight all the demons, vampires and their ilk in the world. But, according to the Guardian, the Scythe, when combined with a powerful spell, can awaken the power of the Slayer essence in every single potential Slayer across the world.” He finished, settling back in his chair to stunned silence as the other four processed what he just told them.

Lilah spoke first, a few minutes later. “So...wait...you mean – _every_ potential Slayer gets the full power? Speed, strength, senses, the works? That would be...dozens, hundreds of Slayers, all over the world. That's-”

“A hell of a lot of dead vamps.” Gunn interrupted. “Plus Thirty extra slayers right here in Sunnydale. That'll be a big help in dealing with all them super-vamps down in the Hellmouth.”

“I did not see that coming...” Lorne said slowly in a soft voice. “So,” He asked, “How long until we're up to our ears in amazon warrior women?”

“Not sure. The Guardian is supposed to be teaching the spell to Willow now. But I got the impression there was more than just that spell she wanted to teach Willow, and that she doesn't have much time to do it in. Plus, for that matter, we have no idea how long it will take to gather reagents and prepare the spell, or what else goes into it.”

“You said that she's lived for thousands of years. What's the rush for her now?” Fred asked. “I mean, apart from the impending end of the world and all.”

“I have no idea.” Wesley answered honestly. “I can only assume that whatever magics have extended her life thus far have found themselves fraying, or wearing out, or something along those lines.” He shrugged. “But that is neither here nor there. Once the potentials are activated, we can't just send them down into the Hellmouth to face the First's army head on and expect them to last long enough for Spike to use the amulet. They'll need time to get used to their new abilities – speed, strength, endurance, reaction times. And to understand how best to use those abilities in a fight.”

“Of course.” He added. “We'll also need a plan.”

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It was three days later that everything was apparently finally gathered together. To provide a wide-open space for Willow to cast the spell, with all the potentials there as well, Robin Wood, the local principal – and child of the late Slayer, Nikki Wood, interestingly enough, which made Wesley wonder about Spike...

Regardless, Buffy, Faith, Willow, Xander, the Guardian – who was physically aging at an amazingly rapid pace, now reduced to using a walker that had been scavenged from an abandoned house, the magic on the temple having been the cause of her longevity, and now, outside of its protections, time was catching up with her – and the potentials had gone to the gym of the High School. That annoying little fool, Andrew Wells, had gone as well, determined to 'record for posterity' the activation of all the Slayers.  
Whatever gets him away from me. Wesley considered. Once that moron had learned that Wesley was an immortal, he'd pressed the former watcher for an interview. Wesley had come rather close to slicing several of his fingers off, but finally the idiot had gotten the idea and left him alone...mostly.

Wesley passed the time testing his skills against Lilah for a while – he had a slight margin of victory in their 15 short fights – 8 victories for him, seven for her – but it was a useful exercise all around, and quite enjoyable. Especially the aftermath. 

The arrival of the flamethrowers – a dozen sets – was also a welcome addition.

“How much longer to you suppose the spell is going to take?” Wesley asked, moving a chess piece across the board between himself and Gunn. 

“I'd say its finishing up right now.” Fred said softly.

“How would you know that?” Lilah said, raising an eyebrow. Fred rolled her eyes a little and pointed to the window, the High School off in the distance. The entire structure was glowing white, bright enough for them to see all the way over here.

“Ah.” Lilah said softly. “I see.”

**Next Time, on Dead Man Walking:** The final battle for Sunnydale Begins as the forces of 'good' enter the Hellmouth to take on an army of vampires greater than any they've faced before....


	26. Into the Hellmouth

**Disclaimer:** No. I don't own it.

**Author's Note:** Last chapter before the Epilogue people!

Remember – battle scenes are not my forte. It may seem like I'm breezing over the battle, or making it seem too easy – I'm not trying to, I just can't really write the full nitty-gritty detail. So I...I'm just moving over those details.

As always, huge thanks to Oxnate, my beta. Without him, this fic would be a great deal less readable.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 26: Into the Hellmouth

“So.” Buffy said slowly, standing at the Summers' dining room table, looking at the people arrayed around it – most of the core group of the Scoobies and the Angel Investigations team – plus Robin Wood, Lilah and the Guardian - were crammed into the dining room, around the table. “We have a small army of Slayers now. And we have a much, much larger army of Turok-Han underneath the Seal of Danthazar. As has been pointed out to me repeatedly, we need a plan.”

“We could also do with more information. That vision you said the Shadow-men gave you, of the Turok-Han army.” Giles said, slowly. “Did it show you anything about the layout of what's on the other side of the seal?”

Buffy shook her head. “Not really. Just...like a really, really big cavern. Nothing more detailed or useful than that.” She looked at Cordelia. “Speaking of visions...?” She asked hopefully.

Cordelia shook her head. “Nothing. As usual, the Powers that Screw are just leaving things to us.”

“If we're going to make a plan, we need to have a firm understanding of what it is we have to work with.” Angel noted.

“Very true.” Wesley said. “So. What do we have to work with?”

“We have thirty-odd Slayers.” Xander pointed out. “Most of them new, getting a workout with their new powers on the local vampire and demon population.”

“We have a Scythe that can disrupt the First's energy.” Lilah said. “Did either of you get a chance to use it on regular vampires or demons?”

“Yea.” Faith said. “Vamps were dust just on touching the thing's blade, and demons – even the ones with the really fucking thick armor/hides were cut through pretty quick.”

“So its hyper-effective against demons and vampires. Which would theoretically include Turok-Han.

“We have the resources of practically an entire town – and the Army base.” Wood pointed out. “Even the military has jumped ship from Sunnydale They took most of the hardware, but judging from how fast they went, I'm willing to bet they left behind a lot of stuff. So anything we don't have, we can get. Easy.”

“We have all that Napalm.” Fred said. “If we start things off by just dumping it all on the Turok-Han...”

Everyone paused a moment, the possibilities running through their minds. 

“There's something we need to consider, though.” Wesley said. “We're not trying to do something like kill off the Turok-Han. That would be impossible in any event – far too many.”

“No.” Spike said. He held up the amulet, frowning at it. “The whole point is for me to use this gaudy thing to channel the sun and collapse the Hellmouth. You all are coming back for this thing – and me.”

“I was kinda hoping we could just leave him behind.” Xander said.

“I can't believe I'm saying this.” Angel said. “But I agree with Xander.”

“No.” Buffy said firmly. “We will be coming back for the Amulet.” she looked at Willow. “You know how to make him unghosty from that?”

Willow nodded. “I'm as sure as I can be without actually trying to cast it myself when we need to.”

“What else do we have then?” Anya asked. She was making a list.

“Those Flamethrowers Wesley managed to get.” Gunn said. “Toasted Uber-Vamps, coming right up.” He got a few smiles and chuckles from that.

“We have you, Willow.” The Guardian said. “Your power has already tilted the battle towards the side of light. Perhaps it can still do more.”

“The whole city is going to collapse underneath us once the Hellmouth is destroyed, or sealed, or whatever it is that he,” Connor said, pointing at Spike, “will end up doing with that amulet. Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but while I'm a fast runner, I've never tried to outrun the ground collapsing beneath me.”

“School bus.” Wood said. “There's plenty left behind. We set one near the School. We run for it as soon as we get out of the Hellmouth, as its collapsing.”

“I like that Idea.” Lorne said. “Get us out of here, so we don't wind up in the same grave as this place.”

“Depending on what the interior of the cavern is like.” Giles said, “I suspect some of the Turok-Han will get past us, and out of the Hellmouth. Which would undermine the entire purpose of the endeavor.”

“How many sewer accesses are in the school's basements?” Cordelia asked Wood.

“Three. I think. At least the section of the school that the Seal is underneath. I'd have to double check.”

“First thing first then.” Buffy said. “We block up all the sewer accesses in the basements...driving them upstairs, into the main body of the school if they get past us down inside the Hellmouth. Then we just make sure they don't get into another section of the school to access the sewers from those basement areas.”

“We should probably block those sewer access points too.” Wood said. 

“There will need be at least one open for Spike and I to get into the School. We can block it up behind us though.” Angel said.

“What about getting you from the school to the bus, when its all over?” Cordelia asked.

“He can just wear a blanket.” Spike said, a malicious smile on his face. “And run, really, really fast.”

Angel was about to retort, but Buffy glared at them both, and Cordelia elbowed him slightly. “You guys can handle the back-and-forth later.” She told them. “Right now, we have the end of the world to prevent.” Buffy paused a moment. “Alright. So we have all that. Who goes down into the Hellmouth, then? Obviously the Slayers, and Spike. Who else?”

“Certainly not Angel.” Wesley said.

“Why not!?” Angel demanded. “Are you saying that I can't handle a fight against-”

Wesley facepalmed. “Oh, you are impossible.” He muttered. Lilah rolled her eyes and explained. 

“If the amulet is going to channel the power of the sun, then you're just as likely to get caught up in all that as the Turok-Han. You're more than capable of fighting Turok-Han. But what you aren't capable of us just standing out in the sunlight and not getting hurt.”

Angel bit back a prepared retort, and just nodded, acknowledging her point. 

“I'm not sure anyone else _but_ the Slayers and Spike should go down into the Hellmouth. We'll be sending our best fighters down there.” Giles said. “So we'll need everyone else to hold off those Turok-Han that get up into the school.”

“Then Wes and I will need to show a few of the Slayers how to use the flamethrowers.” Gunn pointed out.

Wesley nodded. “And then how to get the apparatus off quickly once the fuel runs out. I suspect they'll run out of fuel before the First runs out of Turok-Han.”

Conversation and debate continued for an hour more, as the fine details of the plan were laid out. 

For the first time, really, Buffy thought, she felt something she'd almost half-expected to never feel again. _I think..._ she considered slowly. _I think we might just win this one._

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That night, everyone knew, was perhaps the last night of life they might have. It was the last night they had, certainly, before what might turn out to be the final battle on the Hellmouth – and in the Hellmouth. The last battle in a seemingly endless war that had, for some, lasted seven years on the very edge of Hell.

Everyone handled it in their own way. All who had some they could...that they loved, had last moments with them. Gunn and Fred. Angel and Cordelia. Anya and Xander. Buffy and Spike. Willow and Kennedy. Wesley and Lilah.

That was, however, not all that was done, even by those twelve.

“I'm – I'm – I'm all turned around. You're here?” Giles pointed to a spot on a map rolled out on a table.

“By the pillar, yeah.” Xander nodded. “I'm protecting this area.”

“That puts me over by the door.” He muttered. He examined the map a moment longer, then. “Demons around the perimeter. Right! I open the door.”

Andrew looked up from the book in front of him, wearing an elaborate, over the top red cloak and hood. “You through the door and are confronted by Trogdor the Burninator.”

Giles sighed in frustration. “Oh, bugger it. Fight.” He picked up some dice, rolled them, and then sipped from his glass of wine. Taken from the Shadow Valley Vineyards, actually.

Andrew chuckled. “And that's adios to five hit points. Trogdor has badly wounded you.”

“Well, wait a minute.” Giles protested. “What about my...” He put his glasses on and examined a sheet of paper in front of him. “bag of illusions.”

Andrew scoffed. “Illusions against a Burninator? Silly, silly British man.” Giles bit his lip, then sipped his wine again. _I dearly wish I could just get drunk._ The watcher thought.

“I invoke a time flux on Trogdor.” Amanda said. 

Andrew looked at her hurriedly. “Step down, girlfriend. You can't just-”

Amanda cut him off. “Ninth level sorcerer and I carry the emerald chalice. Trogdor is frozen in time. Deal with it.” 

“Smack-down on Red Riding Hood.” Xander said with a smile. “This could get ugly.”

Giles facepalmed. “Could it possibly get uglier? I used to be a highly respected watcher, and now I'm a wounded dwarf with the mystical strength of a doily. I just wish I could sleep.”

“What kind of person could sleep on a night like this?” Amanda asked.

Across the street, in a bedroom, Cordelia, lying in the bed next to Angel, the man she loved, turned to face the ensouled vampire and asked a question that had been bothering her since they'd returned to Sunnydale – a town she'd once sworn she'd never come back to. “Angel?” She asked slowly, her voice soft, as if, for the first time, she was not that confident in herself. “Are you still in love with Buffy?” The tone was closer to her normal one now.

“What- What kind of question is that?” Angel asked. “Especially now?”

“Its a question that's been bothering me since we came back to Sunnydale.” Cordelia asked. “As long as we were in L.A...I didn't really have to worry about it. Buffy was here, in Sunnydale, and you were there, in L.A. Now...” She let her voice trail off a moment. “Look, I know this might not be the best moment to be asking this question, but tomorrow, one or both of us might die, and I might never get another chance to know the answer to this question. So I want to know. I need to know. Do you still love Buffy? Are you still in love with her?”

_Do I?_ Angel forced himself to really consider, hard, the answer to that question. His feelings for Buffy were...complicated. They'd been complicated from the beginning, in many ways. They'd only gotten more so since he'd returned from Hell, his soul back...and then when he'd gone to L.A....the day that never happened...and that whole episode with Faith...

Up until that moment, in the police station, some small part of him had imagined that somehow, some way, the two of them, despite all their difficulties, could make it work. That Buffy and he could...

But he'd seen the look in Buffy's eyes, then. And...the two of them...they'd both changed, in their time apart. They'd had their moment. Perhaps, had things gone differently, they could have made things work, during that moment...but the moment had passed....and Cordelia...he knew that he loved her. So...did he still love Buffy? Was he still in love with Buffy?

“Buffy and I...” He started slowly. “There will...probably always be...something, there, between us. And I...I do...and probably always will, feel....something for her. That something...is that something love? I guess...I guess you could call it that...but I'm not really sure that's the best word for it. Buffy and I...we've...moved past a point in our lives where we could make it work.” He took Cordelia's hand a moment. “Buffy will always have a place in my heart.” He said softly. “But I love you, Cordelia. And if I was still in love with Buffy...I wouldn't be with you. I wouldn't do that to you. Buffy...” He finished slowly, realizing how true what he was about to say was. “Buffy is a closed chapter in my life. And she'll stay closed.” He closed the distance between them – not that it had been much of a distance – and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “I love you Cordelia.”

Cordelia's free hand went up to Angel's face. “And I love you Angel.” She kissed him back.

In the basement of the same building, the primary sound was not the sweet nothings – or even meaningful heart-to-heart discussions – of two people in fairy tale romantic love. 

The primary sound was, rather, of steel clashing on steel. Blue sparks flew into the air in high arcs each time their swords crashed into each other. 

“So,” Lilah said, sidestepping a swing from Wesley's blade. “Do you think we're going to live to see tomorrow night? Think we can do it?”

“To be perfectly honest?” Wesley asked, swinging at her again, as if aiming for her neck – though not fast enough that she wouldn't be able to block or dodge.

“No.” She retorted sarcastically. “I want you to lie through your hat.” She blocked the attack, then moved forward with a furious series of stabs and swings of her own.

“I haven't worn a hat in years.” Wesley replied. “Not unless you count a motorcycle helmet. Which I don't.” He spoke between blocks and dodges.

“You know full well what I meant, Wesley.” Lilah said, grinning. “Didn't the British invent the obtuse, strange, meaningless saying?” She lowered her sword a moment.

“Yes. Along with the entire English language. But you Americans took it and made it even worse. And the way you all butcher pronunciation and spelling!” He smiled. Then he sighed. He leaned back against the wall a moment, tip of his sword resting on the floor. “Do I think we can do it? Honestly...I don't. I don't think we can. This is the First Evil. The first evil to ever exist, the thing that, in theory, created evil, in its own way. This is more than some rogue higher power. More than some nearly-invulnerable demon.”

“The First can't do anything to us, remember? Except maybe try and fuck with out heads, and there's nothing he can do that would make us more screwed up than we already are, you know.” She smiled wryly at that, but only a moment. “All we have to worry about is an army of Turok-Han. Which are physical, and which can be destroyed.”

“'All we have to worry about'? You make it sound as if they're a minor pest control problem, rather than a theoretically infinite number of vampires more powerful than vampires are supposed to be.”

“Wesley, we're going to live through this.” She said with certainty. “I know that for a fact.”

“Oh? And how is that? Did the powers decide to give Cordelia's power over to you?”

She shook her head. “No. I know we're going to make it through this alive because I know that we are _too damn pretty_ to die.” She couldn't help it, cracking another smile.

“Why, Lilah. I don't think I've seen you smile so much or make quite as many jokes in quite so short a span as right now.” Wesley said.

Lilah considered his words for a moment, then nodded. “True.” She said softly. “I think the impending apocalypse is making me something resembling something approaching giddy. Maybe I'll even do a little dance, jump into the air and click my heels together.”

Wesley chuckled half-hollowly. “Yes. That'll be the day.”

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The next day Wesley looked around the campus of Sunnydale High School. It looked...well, quite different, from how it had appeared since he had last been here. Hardly surprising, perhaps, given that it was an entirely new construction, but still.

Of course, the fact that it was abandoned, rather than bustling with activity, no doubt had to be a factor. Papers and boxes were strewn everywhere, an abandoned car had crashed into a palm tree before whoever had been driving it just left it there. A brief, short wind blew over the area, blowing a few papers around before ending.

“Welcome to Sunnydale High.” Robin Wood said as he opened the front doors. He led them all into the building, then continued talking, as if giving a guided tour. “There's no running in the halls, no yelling and no chewing gum. Apart from that, there's only one rule.” He stopped walking and turned to face the lot of them. “If it moves, kill it.”

“Okay, Slayers.” Buffy said, speaking to all the newly activated potentials. “Into the basement. Follow Faith and Spike.” As planned, Spike and Angel were already inside, having come in through the sewers. She looked at the two vampires. “Did you-”  
Angel nodded. “We blocked up the way we came in, yes.” 

“Good.” Faith and Spike led the potentials towards the stairs into the basement underneath the main building. 

“If you have to go to the bathroom.” Xander told them. “Its on your left. If you don't have to go to the bathroom, stop for a moment, think really hard about what you're about to face.” He paused. “Better to go now.”

Once the potentials passed by, Robin turned to everyone else. “Okay, civilians. The vampires get upstairs, we have three areas they could get through to another building and then down into the sewers.” He pointed to each hallway in question as he spoke. “Down the hall in the atrium, the north hall here, and the primary target, through the lounge straight to the science building. Now odds are, most of them will head there.”

The only members of their whole group that weren't there, ready to fight, were Lorne and the Guardian. And Andrew. It had taken some doing to convince him to stay on the bus. But it had had to be done – the boy was simply beyond useless in a fight. He had some small skill with conjuring demons, and perhaps, given time and some more refined training, he could even use that magical and conjuring skill to some more productive ends than flying monkeys attacking the school play...

But in this instance, the boy was uniquely unqualified to fight in something like this. Even Dawn had at least picked up a few things things along the way. And more importantly with Dawn, she was far too willful to be convinced to stay behind in the bus.

“So four of us on each approach.” Giles said. 

“There's thirteen of us, Giles.” Angel said. 

“I am perfectly capable of counting, Angel.” Giles said. “But thirteen doesn't divide by anything evenly, let alone three. I was thinking it would be best if we had Willow as a mobile reserve, of sorts.”

“What do you mean?”

“That you bring your magic to bear on any one of the three approaches as needed.” He said. “In case any one set of four is harder pressed than the others. Otherwise, you could stay by the open doors, in the light, and use your magic to impede the Turok-Han before they get to us.”

Willow hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Alright.” She breathed in. “I can do this.”

“You can, Wills.” Xander said with certainty. 

“Alright. So how do we do divide into the right groups?” Wesley asked.

Giles considered for a moment. “Gunn, Fred, Angel, Cordelia.” He said. “You four have plenty of experience fighting together, correct?”

“Plenty might be a bit of an over-statement.” Cordelia said, “Given Angel's 'go it all alone' attitude sometimes, but basically.”

“Alright.” Giles said. “Then you four cover the north hall.” he turned to Wesley and Lilah. “You two, plus Connor and Anya, will cover the lounge.” Then he gestured to who was left, including himself. “And we'll take the atrium.” 

There was still some time before they had to get ready. Xander, Giles, Willow and Buffy stood in a rough circle in the center of the area, sharing what might be one last 'Scooby' moment. The original four. _Has it really been seven years?_ Each of them wondered, with slight variations on the wording. It seemed in some ways...too short a time, to encapsulate everything that that had been through in the that time since the Harvest had been stopped, that day right after. Life, death, graduation, college, love, heartbreak, almost marriage, departure, anger, friendship...and more. Did it really only take seven years? 

But...in other ways...it seemed too long a time, considering how well they remembered all the way back, so vividly. It seemed, in some ways, like it had been...only yesterday...or maybe, last week, at most. Not...not seven years though.

They stared at eachother in heavy silence...then Buffy decided that the ice needed to be broken.

“So, what do you guys want to do tomorrow?”

“Nothing strenuous.” Willow said.

“Well, mini-golf is always the first thing that comes to mind.” Xander said with a smile.

Giles shook his head a moment. “Oh come on. I think we can do better than that.”

“I was thinking about shopping.” Buffy quipped. Then she smiled a little. “As per usual.”

“Oh!” Willow said excitedly. “There's an Arden B. in the new mall!”

“I could use a few items.” Xander conceded, sounding faux-reluctant.

“Well, now, aren't we going to discuss this?” Giles asked “Save the world to go to the mall?”

Buffy ignored him. “I'm having a wicked shoe craving.”

“Aren't you on the patch?” Xander asked.

Willow waved a hand dismissively. “Those never work.”

Giles facepalmed a moment. “Here I am, invisible to the eye...” The other three started to walk down the hallway together, away from him, chattering about meaningless nothings. He turned away, shaking his head. “The earth is definitely doomed.” _And..._ he smiled inwardly a little, at the absurdity of it all. _That is exactly what I said, all those years ago...that morning after the Harvest. Funny how it all comes full circle, in a way._

AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS-AtS-HtS

There it was. The Seal of Danthazar. The First had spent so much time and energy trying to get it open, so it could bring forth its army of Turok-Han. And they had kept trying to stop it. And now...now they were going to open it themselves.

“You first, B.” Faith said, handing Buffy a knife.

With a sigh, Buffy held the blade up to her palm, pressed it to the skin, and cut, slicing downwards. She handed the knife back to Faith, to repeated the motion, without the sigh. The blade was passed around, and every Slayer cut their hand, then held their cut hands over the Seal of Danthazar. The blood dripped onto it, the symbols starting to glow just a little, as each piece came up and opened, forming a pyramid that 'dove' down into the earth, a staircase forming in its wake. 

The way into the Hellmouth was opened.

Buffy, Spike and Faith went down first. Despite the dramatic nature of the seal's opening, the staircase was not that large, and they were at the bottom...they were inside the Hellmouth. The cavern where the Turok-Han were. It was huge...expansive. They were on a sort of upper cliff-ledge, overlooking the ground below, thousands upon thousands of Turok-Han milling about on the lower area below them. Some, it seemed were...mining? Others...perhaps forging weapons? It was hard to tell – the distance was great, and the sheer noise level made it impossible to pick out individual noises, or sets of noises. There was just noise, most of it snarling Turok-Han.

Spike looked down at the amulet, which he was now wearing around his neck. He frowned, then looked up, back at Buffy. “Not to be a buzzkill, love, but my fabulous accessory isn't exactly tingling with power.”

Buffy was too busy psyching herself up, fighting back her disbelief at...just... _how many_ Turok-Han there were...even that vision supplied by the Shadow-men hadn't prepared her for _this_.... to really fully register Spike's words. “I'm not worried.” She said, as if trying to convince herself.

“I'm getting zero juice here.” Spike insisted. “And,” he added. “I looking like fucking Elizabeth Taylor.”

“Cheer up Liz.” Faith said, faking a smile. “If things don't go like we're planning, it won't matter what you wear.”

“Oh, yea.” Spike drawled. “That makes me feel _so much_ better.”

The whole lot of them – Spike and Slayers all – walked closer to the edge of the cliff, trying to get a better idea of just how many Turok-Han they had to face. The four Slayers that had the flamethrowers took positions at the edges of the ledge/cavern/cliff mouth. The Turok-Han, once they noticed them, would be coming at them up the cliff face. The idea with the flame throwers was to narrow, ever so slightly, the space they could come at the main force of Slayers through. At least while the fuel was still there. Torch the Turok-Han, the rest that got by would get staked or beheaded, or otherwise killed, one way or the other. It had to be done.

_I won't say we'll all make it through this alive._ Buffy had told them earlier. _I'm not going to lie to you like that. I wont even tell you that we're going to win. I can't know that for sure either. But I can say this: This is a fight that needs to be fought. Its a fight that I think we can win, and its a fight, that if one of us dies, it will be dying for a good cause – the best cause. Saving the world. Saving the world and everyone who lives in it – our friends, and our families, and the countless millions upon millions of innocent people out there that we, Slayers, exist to protect._ Buffy's words were running through the minds of every recently activated Slayer present.

“I'm not worried.” Buffy said again, looking down at the enemy horde. Spike stepped back from the edge. “I'm not worried.” She said a third time, as if repetition would make it true.

“Really?” Rona asked. “'Cause I'm flashing back to Xander's bathroom speech.”

“Buffy-” Amanda started, in a low, frightened voice.

“I'm not worried.” Buffy said a fourth time. “Hey, if we're lucky, the amulet will do its thing before they -” The Turok-Han below turned towards them, seeing them. A single snarl...rolled across the mass, and they started to rush for the cliff face. “see us.” Buffy finished. She braced herself, hands on the grip of the Scythe...

The minute it took for the first Turok-Han to reach the top seemed an age to all of them, and at the same time, it seemed to take only a second, in that paradoxical way time in battles can seem so fast, and so slow, all at once. 

Still, soon enough, the Turok-Han were upon them. Some went straight for the stairs, but the majority went right at them, the only thought in their tiny brains was of killing those intruders.

Buffy had the Scythe, and with it, she was able to dust the Turok-Han quickly, efficiently, even as they all swarmed around them...with one swing, she beheaded one then drove the staked end right into the heart of another behind her. She was almost mechanical in her efficiency as she mowed down Turok-Han...but for each one she killed, another three seemed to come at her, and the problem was compounded, over and over and over and over again...and she was the only one that had the huge advantage of the Scythe. The Flamethrowers were helping, the torched Turok-Han falling back down among the masses below, catching a few on fire. Then Spike, standing near the back, though still fighting his share of Turok-Han, remembered. All that Napalm. Which they had brought down with them, in several large barrels.

With the strength and speed of a vampire, Spike picked one up and hurled at two Turok-Han that had just reached the top of the cliff. It knocked them off, carrying them down with the barrel...which ruptured as it reached the bottom, exploding the Napalm outward, catching Turok-Han in the blast, and more, as those Turok-Han caught others on flame...still, barely a drop in the bucket – a very, very large bucket – compared to how many they had left to fight. Spike kept it up, throwing all the barrels – there were only six – then getting back into the main thrust of the fight, as it were, just as the Flamethrowers petered out of fuel.

Within a second, the four Flamethrower armed Slayers were backing up, taking off the bulky equipment as they went, drawing their weapons as soon as it was off...

The fight went on.

Up above, the thirteen set to cover the other avenues of escape for the Turok-Han heard the snarl of the approaching vampires. Then, they saw them.

“I'm terrified.” Anya said, a note of surprise in her voice. “I didn't realize I'd be- I just figured-”

“Picture happy things.” Wesley said half-sarcastically, as he produced his sword. “A lake, candy canes...bunnies.”

He was surprised at the note of capital 'A' Anger in Anya's voice as he said that. She raised the sword, setting her jaw. “ _Bunnies._ ” She practically spat. “Floppy...hoppy... _bunnies_!”

“I don't think she likes bunnies.” Lilah said. Connor was the only one of the four who hadn't spoken.

And then the Turok-Han were upon them.

Angel, Gunn, Cordelia and Fred didn't have the advantages of two Immortals and a...whatever it was exactly Connor was. But they did have a vampire, and they were, for the moment, doing something resembling holding their own, working together to bring down each Turok-Han they could.

Back down in the Hellmouth, Spike felt...something...power, emanating from the amulet. Slicing the head off of another Turok-Han – and unfortunately, he wasn't completely uninjured at this point, a trickle of blood coming down his forehead the least of the injures – he touched the amulet with his hand, then retracted it, his finger burning...almost as if...

_Almost as if he'd put it out in the sunlight for a moment._

“Buffy!” He yelled over the din of the battle. “This thing. I think its-” He was cut off by a lance of pain that spiked through him, centered on the amulet. He winced and staggered back. 

Buffy heard him. _Just a little longer_... In all this chaos...she had no idea if any of the Slayers had died, or how injured any of them had gotten... _if we can just hold them off a little longer_... “Keep the line together!” She shouted, “Drive them to the edge! We can't let them do-” However she was going to finish the thought, she was cut off as a Turok-Han stabbed her from behind, through the back, out the stomach...it was taken down seconds later by Faith, right as it pulled its blade out of her...Buffy collapsed forward, to the ground.

“Buffy!” The 'Dark' Slayer ran towards her. 

Buffy managed to forced herself up a little. She held the Scythe up, out to Faith. “Hold the line.” She told her, her voice weak. Faith nodded, took the weapon, and dove back into the fray.

Back up on the surface, as more and more Turok-Han came at them...Dawn pulled a rope as several Turok-Han were under the sandbag...and it dropped, opening a skylight...and dusting a whole mass of Turok-Han in the sunlight.

“And that, boys and girls.” Xander said, with his usual panache, “Is what we call the greenhouse effect. Very dangerous.”

“Willow!” Anya called at the witch, from her position. “A little help here!” The Red witch ran over towards them, small fireballs forming in her hands...she felt herself perhaps going nearer to the edge...but she wasn't there. Not yet. And things...things were getting bad. She left her position by the main door behind.

Less than a minute later, Andrew ran into the building, “Bringers! They're coming! I saw-” He was cut off from finishing when a bringer knife drove into his chest, blood fountaining out. The blade was pulled out and Andrew fell to the ground, dead but for a few moments of life left.

But his shout had carried over. All the groups had defeated their Turok-Han, and more didn't seem to be coming...but now the were bringers..first a dozen, then more, pouring out towards them. Robin took a stab in the side, Anya's leg tendon was nearly severed...Cordelia took a cut across the stomach...everyone received injuries, some worse than others...

But still...they...they were...were they _winning_?

Buffy was lying on the ground, struggling to get to her feet. 

The first, wearing Buffy's face, appeared before the Slayer. It had a 'wound' identical to Buffy's. “Oh no.” It looked down at the 'wound'. “ow! Mommy, this mortal wound is all...itchy.” It mocked, then crouched down next to her a moment. “You pulled a nice trick. You came pretty close to smacking me down. What more do you want?”

Buffy gritted her teeth. “I want you...” She forced herself to sit up. “To get out of my face!” She stood.

Rona, who had the Scythe, saw Buffy stand and threw the scythe to Buffy. Buffy caught it and swung it mightily, knocking three Turok-Han off the cliff at once. Faith, surrounded by Turok-Han, found renewed strength and kicked her assailants off of her, jumping back to her feet. As Vi, and Kennedy, and other Slayers all worked together, fighting hard against the enemy, Spike gasped and stumbled backward away from the fight, clutching his chest, then grabbing, with his free hand, the burned had, burned by the Amulet. He staggered back into the alcove right next to the stairs. 

“Oh bollocks.” He said softly. Blue light flew up from the Amulet, crashing through the ceiling right above him, then through the basement ceiling, then though the school's ceiling...sunlight came down through the hole, hitting the Amulet...a white ray burst out of the amulet, catching a mass of Turok-Han in its rays...

“Buffy!” Spike called.

“Spike!” Buffy responded, rushing towards him...but before she could reach him, more rays burst from the amulet, the light of the sun refracting out into many rays, blasting more and more and more Turok-Han, rendering them dust.

The ground started to shake. “Everyone out! Now!” Faith called. 

Everyone rushed for the stairs, ducking under the rays, then going them. Buffy stood next to Spike. 

“I can feel it, Buffy.” He said, amazement flush through him, obvious in his tone and on his face.

“What?” It seemed a non-sequitur to Buffy. 

“My soul.” He said softly. “Its really there.” He looked at her. “It kind of stings.” The ground shook more. “Go on then.” He told her.

“No, no, you've done enough.” Buffy insisted. “You could still...”

“No.” Spike cut her off. “You've beat them back. Its for me to do the cleanup.” The walls started to crumble, at the far edges...but only coming closer. 

Faith called down to Buffy. “Buffy! Come on!”

“Gotta move, Lamb.” Spike told her. “I think it's fair to say that school is out for bloody summer.”

“Spike!” Buffy wasn't giving up.

“I mean it. I gotta do this.” He held out a hand to stop her. Buffy laced her fingers through it, and as Spike's hand burst into flame, hers burnt as well. Buffy looked into his eyes. 

“I love you.” Spike shook his head.

“No. You don't. Not yet. But thanks for saying it.” The earth shook again, pieces started to fall from the ceiling. “Now go!” Buffy ducked under the ray of light. “I want to see how it ends.” He called after her, as she ran up the stairs. “Don't leave me stuck in this thing! You hear!”

“I'll come back for you Spike!” She called down to him.

The ground collapsed behind them as they wall ran out, were carried out, helped out...there was no time to take the bodies of the dead with them...into the bus, grabbing on, Angel's blanket barely keeping him from dusting in the light, smoke rising from flames, and then he was in the Bus. Connor and Wesley helped a half-crippled Anya along, Lilah dispatching a final Bringer...

They were all on the Bus, even Buffy, barely, as the Ground beneath them continued to collapse.... 

Sunnydale fell into the ground, a vast sinkhole forming barely a foot behind them...

All of them, even those so wounded as to barely be conscious had one thought in their heads at that moment.

_Did we just win?_

**Author's Note:** If you're wondering why I killed Andrew...well...part of it is just my little vendetta against Joss for killing all those people – and yet Andrew lives. A choice that made little sense to me when I first saw it, and still makes no sense. Jonathon was at least the one that had a bloody conscience in season 6! *rants at Joss some more*. Plus...well...in a fight like the final battle, at least one majorish character needs to die...and I just couldn't bring myself to kill anyone else.

Anyway, just the epilogue left everyone.


	27. Epilogue: A New Line of Work

**Disclaimer:** It is still not mine. Again. Joss refuses to sell. So do the people who own Highlander.

Thanks, as ever, to my Beta, Oxnate.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Epilogue: A New Line of Work

The lobby of the Hyperion Hotel, despite its size was crowded. The Battle of Sunnydale was now a week in the rear view mirror, and despite all the costs that had been suffered – death, for some, physical damage for others, psychological scarring and effects for all...despite all the costs, they had won. It had taken all of them, even the most optimistic and hopeful among them, some time to really get that concept through their heads. To really understand that they had won. And then it had taken more time to get past all that had been suffered to achieve that victory.

But now...now they had. They accepted their victory. They had...come to terms, though hardly moved past, all that they had lost. Now was not the time for sorrow, for confusion, for mourning. There had already been time for all of those, and there would no doubt be more. But now....now was the time for celebration. To celebrate their victory. The future. But also to celebrate life. Their lives. To celebrate the fact that they had survived...that they had been through hell, and back. Literally, in many cases. But also to celebrate something more. To celebrate all the lives that they had saved, with their victory. The world that they had saved.

It has been said that life is a sexually transmitted disease. And that is, in the biological sense, entirely true. But it was equally true that life, in some ways, could be called a drug. A euphoric drug at that. The exhilaration, the giddiness one feels after coming through some terrible danger alive. That comes after looking death in the eye, then punching it in the jaw. _They were alive._

The people crowding up the Hyperion's lobby would not be staying in the Hyperion or even Los Angeles for much longer. The majority of the Scoobies and Slayers would be flying on to Cleveland soon enough, to set up shop on the Hellmouth there. The work of fighting the forces of Darkness was never done.

There were, however, two of that group that wouldn't be flying off to Cleveland. Giles wasn't going to Cleveland – not yet, at least – because he needed to fly to England and sort out the Council's affairs. Regain access to the Council's accounts, collect what remained of its assets, find surviving Council members and agents, what few might be left at this point. The Council would have to be rebuilt. Though, now, as very different institution, from the way it was run, to its make up. Giles would be Head Watcher so in some ways, the Watchers' Council was still just that, it seemed. But the reality was not that simple, or neat and tidy. For rather than just a panel of watchers directing the international institution, there would also be a seat at the table for Slayers – Buffy and Faith, primarily, at the moment. But also more than just that. Willow, for magic, and Xander, for his...off the wall manner of thinking, and his ability to bring new perspectives on a problem. And the Watchers' Council – or, what was left of it, rather - was an organization that was desperately in need of some new perspectives.

Faith, on the other hand, would also not be going onto Cleveland. But the reason she wasn't was quite different from Giles'. She would be staying in Los Angeles. Angel Investigations' work was not done just because the First Evil had been defeated. Wolfram and Hart was still a worldwide entity, and the Senior Partners were still very much a threat to humanity. If a different one. Faith was staying behind to help Angel. She felt she owed him that much, for saving her from herself...for not giving up on her. Buffy seemed okay – more than okay with it. They may have moved on from the worst that had happened between them, but from Buffy's point of view, not having Faith around was better, most of the time. 

Angel, Gunn, Fred, Lorne and Cordelia were sitting at a fold-out card table, one of several that had been set up in preparation for this little celebration. Talking, chatting...simply enjoying eachother's company. They were friends. 

Wesley walked over to them. “I apologize for interrupting your conversation,” He said softly. “But there's something I'd like to say.”

After a moment, Angel nodded. “Alright. What?” He asked.

“Things between us...this last year have been...bad, to say the least. Indeed, to say the most....things have been...terrible. None of us have been particularly admirable people in our conduct with eachother....” He paused a moment. “After everything...I want to apologize. For...stealing your son, Angel, whatever my intentions. I should have trusted you more – or trusted someone, talked to one of you, tried to find some other way. And...well...the way I've...acted.” 

He paused another moment, then, “Once...a year ago, we were friends. Now...I respect what we had. We were once friends, and that will always be true.” He shook his head. “Its over. We're not friends any more. We can't be. Not after everything that has happened. But we were.” He sighed. “And that will always be something.”

“Do you think...” Fred started slowly. “That we'll ever be friends again. Us and you?”

Wesley shrugged. “I don't know. Perhaps. But unlikely. At least...not for a while. The only one of you left alive at that point may well be just Angel.” He sighed. “I'm sorry to dampen the celebrations like this. With this...mood. But its something that I needed to say. Something that needed to be said. And who knows when the next time I'd have a chance to say it would be. Since I'm not staying in Los Angeles.”

“Its alright Wes.” Gunn said. “Something like this...its a little more important than just this celebration.” He extended a hand. “You're always a guy I can trust to watch my back...whatever I've said in the past.” Wesley shook his hand, firmly.

“If you want, Wes.” Lorne said, “I can read your aura one last time.”

Wesley shook his head. “I appreciate the offer. But if I'm going to live forever, I don't want to stop being surprised by the future just yet.” Lorne nodded.

Cordelia scoffed. “I was thinking more...your luck with prophecy, you don't want anything to do with it.”

Wesley didn't smile, but he did laugh, just a hint of mirth in it. “Perhaps.”

“Good luck, Wesley. And remember, you weren't always like you are now. I saw the previous versions of Wes. And...they had something going for them as well. Don't get so caught in who you are now that you lose the you you used to be entirely.” Cordelia said softly.

“First rule.” Angel said to Wesley. “Don't die. If things are even going to get better...you're going to have to keep on living.”

Wesley nodded. “I intend to.” He nodded to all of them, then left, looking for Lilah. He found her speaking to Giles.

“Wesley.” Giles said as the former Watcher approached. “As I was just asking Lilah, so too shall I ask you. Have you given any extra thought to my offer?”

“Come and work for the Council? I'm sorry Giles, but training super-charged adolescent girls isn't really something that appeals to me any more.” Wesley said.

“That's not the only work of the Council, Wesley. Even with the increased number of Slayers. There are just some things that a teenage girl – or a girl like Buffy, regardless of how old she is – is not suited to do, that needs to be done. Like keeping a handle on various governmental agencies when they stumble across the supernatural. So we don't have another government fiasco.” He handed a picture to both Wesley and Lilah. A dead Caucasian man with a buzz cut, wearing a United States military uniform – Wesley wasn't able to tell which service – and a symbol carved into the dead man's forehead, his throat torn out.

“Is that-” Wesley recognized it.

“Yes. The symbol of the Blood King. On a dead marine. In D.C. A case that the Naval Criminal Investigative Service has and is working on.”

Wesley looked at Lilah, who smiled slightly. “Fancy a trip to D.C?” He asked her.

“What the hell.” Lilah said. “Sure.”

**Author's Note:** And there we go. The End of Dead Man Walking. Its been a fun ride, through now 27 chapters, counting this Epilogue – and nearly eleven months. 90,000+ words.

I'd like to thank Oxnate, my beta, for helping me along with this, so much. I'd like to thank each and every reviewer, everyone who recommended this fic, and everyone who read, even if they didn't review. You are the reason I kept writing. Its been fun.

And while this fic may be over, the fun isn't. Keep your eyes peeled for the next installment in the Dead Man Walking series:

Dead Man Walking In D.C. Coming soon to a computer near you.


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